4.6.15

Today's prompt dealt with writing an aubade--a morning poem, or a poem of lover's parting.  One definition I read called it "a farewell to a sleeping woman from a doorway."  That definition gave me the inspiration to run with for this piece, which turns things around a bit.

Rebound Aubade

Sleep, my not-love—it’s still dark, and
I’m the only bird awake. I don’t sing,

but dress quietly, last night’s

backless red dress limp now, wrinkled,

pantyhose wadded in my hand.  Good-bye—

was it Paul?  Perry? Whatever your name was.

I hope it was as explosively meaningless for you

as it was for me.  You cut a broad-shouldered

swath in an otherwise cold night, stopgap

for something beyond this room,

something out of my reach.

Thanks, at least, for that, for a few hours.

Strappy heels in hand, I pad barefoot

to your front door.  You don’t wake.

You don’t have to call.