I open the door-
three in the afternoon
my short hair windblown
and rain soaked
by the seven minute walk home
i've taken to taking
to avoid
the one who used to love me

i opened the door-
he was sitting there
too still to be in that purple chair
four feet from the door
that he only sits in
when the veins in his forehead
are popping out
themselves turning purple.
but, he was smiling;
that melancholy smile that makes me wonder,
even though i quit giving a ****
about him
when i was seven,
living with him in a bus
in a field, someplace.
with a sun lamp
and a *** plant
in the storage compartment

and she's lying there,
dressed, but barely awake
with that thin blue and white blanket
that she's had since he was young
draped over her
on that floral loveseat she's always had
a smile on her face
but tears in her eyes

he swivels the chair
to give me room to pass
but i ease instead
around the separating wall
through the kitchen
and down the hall.
a smile on my face
as i look back and he stands
that old chair complaining
as much as his back

he looks back at me
and i realize
why that look in his eyes
brought the same smile he wears
to my lips;
because he's realized
that i've won here,
that in six months
i'm gone
moving on
disconnecting myself
and becoming my own **** person

he's realized that he doesn't know me
never has

he's seen the way i shake
everytime he's less than twenty feet from me
heard
the waver in my voice

he's noticed the way
that even on good days
i open the door to the garage
five times at the most.

noticed the worry lines on my forehead
the gray hairs on my chin and head
my bitten fingernails
or the spot where I scratched
half of my mustache
right off my face

or, at least
i *** he has
hope he's realized that
there's no hope
for me and him

but
he hasn't
and that conversation
was just something else,
didn't even involve me

i can hope all i want
but until i take it all away
he's never gonna realize
that it isn't
Him
winning here

never has been



©Brandon Webb
2012

I buried a suitcase in the sand,
It's contents to remain unknown.
Although I wish to understand
These are best if left alone:

The interactions of two
Within a circle of three,
The meaning of You
Of I and of Me.

The silence that’s found
At the sun’s first breath,
A man that has drowned
Yet experienced no death.

The alignment of power
On painted lips,
The deadliest flower-
A rose with a whip.

The interstice between
Ribs and their cages,
Guardians without wings
And the gentlest rages.

Where land touches sea-
A transient mirror,
It seemed fitting for me
To bury it here.

Bill Watson was an average man
Had a wife and just one kid
He always gave top effort
At everything he did
But, one day, Bill was shaken
He was taken by surprise
By a visit from the heavens
And it was right before his eyes
Bill, went out into his backyard
And the sky lit up so bright
It could only be an angel
Come down to him that night
He looked, but couldn't make out
the shape that  came down  from the sky
He thought what was the reason
And he found no reason why
That he should get a visit
From an angel of the lord
His life was not of great importance
He was just one of the hoard
He believed and read his bible
But didn't quite live by the word
He went to church each year at Christmas
Although his sins could not be cured
But, here in his back garden
On his knees before the light
Bill Wilson confessed his sins to god
In the dark, this  Christmas night
He told the angel of his feelings
Of all the sins, of thought and deed
And he knelt there before the angel
waiting for the penance that he'd need
But, nothing broke the silence
Only Bill there in the yard
He couldn't quite make out the angel
though he tried so very hard
Then from behind the illumination
Came the word he waited for
"You've tripped the motion light, you *****"
"Now, come in and close the door!"