For One Who's Gone

Dedicated to Alex Mendell 1984-2003

I tried to distract myself all afternoon,
staring out the window,
feigning interest in the leaves
and small creatures running around.

it didn’t work.

I tried listening to my entire CD collection.
I skipped past the songs that reminded me of him
“I am a visitor here, I am not permanent”

next track, please.

when the songs got old, I turned to fiction,
devouring entire volumes in a few hours
flipping past pages that I had not read.
“the sign of Mr. Wells’ body
slumped over the pavement...”

I had to give up with the distractions.
he had
haunted me for days. “I just
couldn’t believe this guy
was unable to foresee
the pain that would become his legacy
to those he left in his wake.”
quoth the newscaster

the papers called it a tragedy,
family called it a shock
some dared to say it was predictable.
I just call it a gaping hole
that threatens to eat me alive.

my mother mused, “who knew he
could have done something to bring
so many police around,” she said.
“certainly I didn’t, nor did his family.
I don’t think anyone had any idea.”

“he looked so average, so
common...”

“so confused.”
I added, desperate for an end
to this conversation.