_MG_2372
By Stephen MacDonald Howard

I’m watching love stories on TV.
Getting up, stumbling in the half-dark,
confused, foolish, simple;
touched by love stories on TV.

Elizabeth Shue reminds me of you.
Sweet Elizabeth could love me — forever,
in a TV love story.

But now, reading the sad poetry
of dead Jack’s daughter on the toilet
(still touched by the TV love story)
in the late night quiet absence
of another heart beating, I wonder:

why I returned to this city, desperate;
drinking coffee and reading Jack’s column —
alone in the grey morning —
touched by sex and violence on TV.

Is it come to this melancholy
dark night, pacing the empty hallway
(even my cat went to the wild dogs on the hill)
shaking off the last sensation,
the touch of a love story on TV?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s