She swore at him profusely
and gritted her teeth like
a wild bitch. He flung his arms
in the air exclaiming his
ignorance by pounding his palm
to his forehead.
He truly thought she must
be a witch possessed;
she thought he must be
a foolish hog.
She slammed the door
behind her; he felt
her thunder. He stood
smothered in the remnants
of poor communication.
He pondered and he thought
and he mulled over
how his actions (or reactions)
could have sparked such a fire.
She’d shook their world
in an attempt to remind him,
yet, he was blank. She’d
smiled, played their song,
screamed and left the room.
Still, he didn’t recollect.
Then, she flung open
the door, and he caught
the calendar she’d thrown.
‘Today’ was circled.
In a list
A contest entry
- You're Not Here Anymore by Annexed Josephine.
300 points, ended June 26, 2008, 15 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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