The 38th Mistake: Doing What You’re Not Suppose To

I’d forgotten, actually, that he used to show up at my door late at night, drunk. This feels like such a long ago and far away place, but it is only just under a year and a half old, and maybe I was too ashamed I guess to post it, as by this point it was supposed to be all done and dusted. 

Almost, but one drunk night and all my resolve dissolved, briefly. 

When I saw it was this next, I cringed, almost threw it away, but then my internet went down for the bazillionth time in the last week or so, well, so, I’m under duress and fortunately I didn’t trash it, or unfortunately. I don’t know. Which is why I am writing this now, 2: 59pm, today, when I’m supposed to post it. Should have been done, all the rest have been one edit away, and whoosh,  off they went. But not this one, this one dragged its feet and made it difficult, and my mind went blank, and I still almost trashed it, just now, but here goes. 

From June 8th, 2017

Even now, I still half expect him to show up some night, real late at night when I have to work early early early the next morning, just like he always did. I don’t really believe he would, and he said he never would, not in two million years, but I still half expect it. Like anyone I’ve cared for, figures into my world long past there expiration date. Not so much from some pathetic belief, they want something, but more as a fantasy, I suppose, so I know they really did actually care.

Although, in BealArt guys case it was never clear if he actually could feel real emotions anymore, or if everything had just been switched off when his baby girl passed on that night so long ago.

His ability to feel was always a joke, but I always thought he was the way he was because his feelings ran so deep, they were so big, but he never learned how to deal with them, just how to control them. Though every now again I could see the side of his mouth twitch, you know, like a ventriloquist.

All I recall is we met up the once more at that Scots pub, and it went bad, and I told him to never contact me again, which I mentioned I think before. Maybe I was going to talk about it, who knows, I forget all the details. Since I’ve changed my number he has no way of contacting me anymore, I did that intentionally and because I am weak and want no chance calls, texts, none of that. 

Now, I couldn’t end there, not on that tired note, so I looked ahead, and…

And what came next? Well, I was wrong, another lost poem. Who knew? And I’d forgotten about this too, and don’t know why I didn’t post this poem.

milkweed at euston meadow -
July 11th, 2017 – Euston Meadow
poem written July 4th, 2017


i smelled the scent
of the milkweed
in the morning sun
hundreds of them
in bloom
around me
and i did not
that they had a scent at all
as the morning coolness
gave way
to the noonday sun
amongst them
in wonder
atop the rise
at euston meadow.
with nowhere
to be
but sit and watch
the light change
under the walnut tree
in the in-between
just watching
dancing on the sidewalk
and i catch the breeze
with my bohemian dress
and skip
the cracks
in the light fantastic
on my way
to a new day.

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