of memories
mildew perfumed
a little dingy
with old plates
and broken chairs …
a stray thought
from a former belief
tucked away in cob-webbed pigeon holes,
my high school years,
my first kiss,
a misogynist history teacher,
my first look at Marx,
a game of darts,
love poetry
(wrapped in desparation
and hot tears)
leaving home …
I’d invite you in but you might get
locked away in my secret room
another memory – a reowr
or a whimper
who knows.