The Poet’s Mother’s Lovers
As if words are not enough, I am now
Considered an emerging poet.
I found this out yesterday while I was waiting
On the train that would take me to Nowhere,
A hop, skip, and a jump away from New Jersey.
I missed my mother, but she was long gone-
She traveled all the time, from Japan, to China,
To Guam, taking pictures on her new iphone
As she went, gathering souvenirs. She was recently
Widowed, recently married again by an older man
In his fifties with hippie-length long hair and a cool
smile. “Boy,” I said. “You sure got back
On the love train fast!” the last time I talked to her on
The phone, and she agreed with me and giggled a little,
Saying she thought she finally found her true love.
I wasn’t about to argue, but I wasn’t about to agree,
Either. I flash-backed to the memories of my true loves;
The boy who didn’t talk to me in high school; the guy
With a ring in his nose; the one who read books at
The local café. I had all sorts of lovers, but the books
I read were the best, taking me to far off places that
One could only dream of. And I did, and then I wrote
My own words on my own piece of paper, and I started
A journal, and now I don’t know where I will end up.
It will be a great adventure.