Jan/Feb 2002 Poetry

survival tactics

by allen itz


survival tactics

after the spike
of exploding anger,
the room seems sucked
clear of air, leaving me
gasping, heart pounding,
hands trembling, weak
from the fall from the peak
of adrenaline high

it's my fault
it's my fault
she says
and says again
as I push past her
and through the door
to the stone bench
outside under the tree

she follows
and sits beside me,
but we hold ourselves apart,
getting our breath back
as our heart slows to normal

then he calls from the door

goodbye, he says,
as if nothing had happened

see you tomorrow

goodbye, we say,
going along with him,

this is the last time
we'll have to pretend


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