Public Republic

Roger Craik

Photo: Untitled blue

Today you leave
(I’ve known of this for months and therefore can’t complain)
For the beach house by the sea

Where he will pass the days and evening with TV,
And you with books,
Or so you say.

You will go for walks, together.
You will never be alone.

Perhaps I’m wrong.
Perhaps no woman truly wants to be alone.

Yes, even now you’re on your way,
And during all those hours
With his great hand atop the steering wheel
And rubber rolling underneath
To hammer flat, away from me,
The intervening miles,
You unencumbered walk the corridors
To that one room where we alone can talk.

Or so I hope.

Poem from the volume of poetry “Those Years“