It begins with a season; no one knows why it comes.
It never misses a celestial beat, but it takes from us
our happiness – a dry word. Devoid of truth, it replaces
words like hope with a cold, drafty breeze.
You tell me you're working out, going for a bike ride.
Yet I caught a man walking out of my room today,
he laid bare on our 600 count Egyptian bed sheets.
I ate lunch and waited for him to leave.
Across the hall another boy takes
prescriptions from his father,
perception widens extending full frame --
it's nothing new.
After summer Emma went south,
where her heart had always been.
For me, television turned to useless conversation
about college field trips and Nevada brothels.
I spent long hours with a camera swinging
from my neck taking nothing but snapshots.
Little reminders of the towns around me and
the inadequacies that encompassed them.