little by little
i whittle away
to pay
the debt i owe
upon this world of woe
for in the whittling
i find true joy

Sweet Girl

what sort of smile did you wear?
did you have a ribbon in your hair
when first you met over a malted
and agreed
that he'd
pick you up at six
to take a walk
along cobbled paths
rain slick
pond-side in the park
in the company of ducks and geese
and strangers
that you did not see
a prelude to a meal
a drink or two
and a rousing game of pachenko
never before had you
smoked
or stood with lips dry and parted
eyes joyous darted
to the floor, his strong hands, eyes, shoulders
his dark hair
against your cheek
his breathing in your ear
your knees so weak
you could never have imagined
that decades on...
you would wait in the car
while he limped into the pharmacy
to help your cause
your mouth locked in a grimace
so little color left in your face
the glisten in your eyes resigned
to their reddened rims
bags rest atop your sallow cheeks
your back stooped in perpetual decline
feet sore
and ankles swollen
kept warm
with a shawl woven
at his bequest
upon the occasion of your fortieth

his love never more true
than now
never
before of greater depth
he sees you still
in the bloom
of his blossoming love
his
Sweet
Girl