NO DINNER AND FLOWERS, JUST STALKING

NO DINNER AND FLOWERS, JUST STALKING
by john grey
The telephone rings.
A car cruises by
your apartment.
Another letter arrives.
He’s in the next shopping aisle.
The parking lot
is a hundred of him.
The wall shadows become
a succession of his silhouettes.
He’s every noise,
each chilly brush of wind
against your cheek.
He feels so close some times,
his rancid puffs of breath
ooze out of your mouth.
His footsteps are
the tag line to your own.
His body grows
from the dark places
where yours end.
The cops are no help,
your friends the same.
Lives are lived too singly
for your own good,
are as unprotected
as the scurrying mouse
in the grain field
hunted by hawks.
For months, he’s imagined
he loves you.
He’s husked you down
until you’re nothing
but your fear.
You stow your heart away,
give him your trembling to adore.

0 thoughts on “NO DINNER AND FLOWERS, JUST STALKING

  1. For Uma Thurman? Paranoia can be justified. “Lives are lived too singly for your own good…” intense observation…i like it when the situation is blurted out and ‘given away’ so to speak.
    Pretty straightforward piece that is poetically delivered. I read somewhere that: “Poetry has the power to move and challenge the reader. It can intensify or even celebrate misery, be cynical or wry, or just laugh outright in an outrageous way. Poetry is as serious and antic as life, and yet reading modern poetry can be shocking to our sense of what language is or must be.” This poem surely fits into that description. Nice form/structure too! Thx. Mr. Grey.

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