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July 2016, vol 12 no 2

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Bob Lucky

Another Bad Love Poem

“Love: an old man with a broken wrist, his white beard glimmering in the moonlight.”
– Peter Johnson, “The Worst Love Poem Ever Written”

Iceland. On a deck at the Blue Lagoon, I slip. My left wrist trembles in the air like a question mark. A crowd gathers. The staff confers, every move calculated to thwart a lawsuit. The rest of the day: ambulances, hospitals, and generous doses of morphine. The sun is still up when I expect moon in the sky. An EMT tells me how he likes to go shopping in Atlanta. I’m not much of a shopper so the conversation dies. Then a doctor pulls on my wrist until he can pull no more. My wife huddles with a bunch of white coats, and I think I love you, babe. I may have said it.

midnight sun
riding a morphine wave
into darkness –
flowers that don’t exist
blossom in my dreams

Reprint from Haibun Today 7:2, June 2013)