Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Chance Meeting

We run into each other
at the town center,
in front of Haberdashery and Hallmark.

My breath draws clouds in the air
as I stand on stilettos,
lost in my shock and sorrow.

Limp words, like drifting fall leaves,
float down from your lips,
cynically trying to resurrect
our long-ago link
in hesitant nostalgia
capturing the vibes
in my mood ring,
now out of fashion.

Yet, I know full well
our only reference
lives in photo albums
of a failed past,
perfectly incomplete.

May I ask why
you’ve now let
your mangled phrases
swoon over
once-upon-a-time toxins,
afflicting us both
with grief?

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Prompt:something unfinished