Omega

I.

In times like these
I fancy myself a bit like
Alvy Singer

His face
Perplexed

where did the screw up come?

In all honesty
I might ask myself
that question forever

With that same
confused, bewildered look

II.

I knew it was over
the infamous fight over
a certain french hat

The issue in question
was trust of course

We faked it well for the party

We dove for our own
personal antidote
the bedroom

But when she twisted her ankle
Recapturing her lost youth
I must admit
Instead of feeling sorry

I felt
You did this to yourself

III.

But I had known it was
over long before that fight

Her carpeted resting
fetus returning to womb
let me know
I did not know her at all

Subconsciously I blocked it out

IV.

Subconsciously
I blocked something else out

The constant reassurances
The inevitable

You really want to be with her
You really want this
You don't love me
You don't trust me

V.

The true ending
The stressful day at work

Channeling my grandfather
My father
My mother
My grandfather

My familial Irish rage
I keep a close watch on it
But not this day

I picked a shoe
and in frustration
threw it madly

My mother did the same thing
on phone calls
she didn't want to hurt us
she lobbed phone books in our direction

Not intending to hit us
just intending to let us know
she was busy and overstressed

the shoe hit the couch
bounced away carelessly

and immediately I felt
relieved and remorseful

I would throw no more things

In response
she resumed her womb-dwelling

those blue eyes
flashed the same sort of fear
and pain

I'd seen in similar positions

She said
You're just like my father

Had I had it to go over again
the events of that day
in retrospective
I would have mentioned

You can't avoid being with
someone somewhat like Dad.

-5 March 2007