STARVING

STARVING

Ricardo Antonio Garcia

Starving poet I am …

… but I own a beautiful pen.

The curtains are dirty

dishes in the sink

and I

have made

a poor housewife of myself

wondering why any woman

would want

such a tired old man as I.

The redundancy of the World

is a commercial carousel

of endless rides

but once

was enough for me.

Starving artist she was …

… and I buried her by the old oak tree.

We lived

and breathed on the same page

and she thought

of us as Twin Souls, didn’t she?

Why she

stayed with me so long

only her

wondrous heart could answer.

I always thought I’d leave first

but she

became the poem of my legacy.

Do you hear that my love?

Do you hear

the wild geese in the sky?

The floors

are unwashed and I live in squalor

as any old man on the hill

I have hidden away

in a contemptuous haze

needing glasses

to see the light of day.

I loved her enough

to write this epitaphic episode

long before she died.

How sober

is a man in love?

Starving

we craved the thoughts sublime.

I could of left the desk for a ‘real’ job.