lasting echoes of getting over it

A spider web, used condoms, magic tan
The stuff my girlfriend left at home behind
Nail polish, one black bra, a stare: deadpan
Enough to haunt, night and day, this troubled mind
She said had to get on with it, so blunt
I was helpless, hapless, called sister, mom
But seems it was not good enough a flaunt
Not good enough for her at least, she'd never come
So I moved on, got on with it, those scars
Still fresh and dripping yet no questions asked,
When in public hiding at hideous bars,
Walking away from angry dogs, from her, they barked
Now who was right but wrong and has plenty of time
Keeps enacting the same love, stale, past his prime


henry satriano (Columbus, OH, 1973)