September
There was once a prompt at Poets and Storytellers United to write about October. Sorry, my poem is about September.
photo by dsnake1
September
September seems like a meteor dropping from the sky,
once bright, then gone.
Like you too.
Remember we stand at the parapets of our block,
smoking cigarettes, bitching
about money and our jobs,
you a seamstress, me an odd-job labourer?
Life gets better.
But then you are gone, those memories hang
like van Goghs on my dusty wall.
Starry nights, irises, sunflowers,
cafes, tears and labour.
But I am too afraid
to follow you and so I linger
and I sit in dark corners
and wait for
September.
written 26/09/2023
revised 28/09/2023
****************
"what matters is that I still have
after all that has preceded
poems left
me left
and these walls that I have always
loved
in all the cities and in all the
places I have lived, these walls are still here and
my radio plays,..."
Charles Bukowski, luck from a kitchen
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2024