Clocking in,
Trudging on,
Grinding the nose down to the bone,
Clock out,
Et cetera,
Ad Nauseam,
Goes the routine of the last of the Blue-Collar poets.

Can't think of words,
Too dog-tired to think of rhyming schemes,
Too sore for clever entendres,
Too broke to focus on fixing verses, stanzas, and metrics.

Thinking of the too-long day,
And the too-long day to come,
Fighting for a long shot of a good-night's sleep,
For a glimmer of a decent day off,
Clawing for a decent day's pay.

Sweeping up the metal shavings,
Spattered with hot, hot grease,
Bones broken by falling boxes,
Maimed by unsafe machines.

Keep the Blue-Collar poet in mind,
As you operate your computers,
Sitting in your White-Collar dream,
For their fledging numbers dwindle,
That will never get the chance at your dream

A broken shell, a living hell, and all I'm left with now is my regret.

Better days ahead were a pipedream after our relationship crumbled. Countless arguments. Disagreements. Every day! For my life, I can't believe we stayed together as long as we did. God knows I didn't want her to leave me. How much longer must I wrestle with these painful memories?

I just feel regret, unspoken, I just feel the pain; since she left, my life has been a broken shell, a living hell — I can't believe I let her go; it was foolish pride before the fall the day she left when I lost all — I should have held her closer, I should have made her see the feelings I have for her, what she means to me; I didn't say I love her or beg her to stay, instead, I stood in silence and watched her walk away, and all I'm left with now is my regret.

Justification is an exercise in futility. Knowing what I could have and should have done leaves an inextricable switchblade in my soul. Love's lessons learned too late — love's loss too great.

Misting eyes beseech as memories replay in my head, but they're too painful, and I feel dead. No joy to be found. Oh well, my self-imposed hell. Painful memories open like an oubliette under my feet, plunging me lost and languishing in isolation's labyrinth. Questions left unanswered, decaying in the debris fields of "what if.”

Reflection can be a catharsis for the soul, but it can also rip a hole in it, and soon reality roars from guilt's bottomless pit to devour all hope. Sometimes despair is mitigated by occasional reminders of us. Thoughts lingering on happier times, blessed moments mine to treasure. Until the damnable loop of regret dominates to decimate any respite of joy. Vanishing expectations. Weeping willow's silent wail. Xerox memories fade with time.

Years have passed, and my thoughts continue to haunt me over what we could have had. Zero-sum game — all I'm left with now is my regret.




Mark Toney ©️ 2023

*       *       *

April 22, 2023

I hope you found the above fictional prose poem interesting. I wrote it in response to a writing challenge I heard about.  Write a 26-sentence short story (or prose poem). Each sentence must begin with the alphabet's sequential letters starting with A through Z. One sentence must be 100 words long, and another sentence only one word. Would you like to try it?

The best gift I have ever received from you is your embrace. You are soft like a teddy bear. When we were embracing each other, I didn't want to let you go.

Bolting upright,
In a valley oh so green,
Adorned in white,
And seeing clouds dot the sky,
I realize with a starling realization,
"Oh ****, I guess I died."

Make my way to the barn I saw,
See a spread on a table 30 foot wide,
I see Jesus with all his fellers,
Laughin' while sippin on wine.

I walk up to the Son,
And ask if I can have a seat,
He gestures to the empty seat to his left,
Apparently, he was waiting for me.

As Jesus laughs at a joke from John the Baptist,
I take a sip from my glass with a trembling hand,
Looking at our savior a gather the gumption to ask him an important question to me.

As he turns to me I feel my stomach drop,
He says,
"Go on my friend and ask."
I say to him,
"Oh Lord, how is it this came to be?"

He ponders this over a bite of trout,
Gesturing me to take a bite of my own.
As I chew on the tender meat he swallows and says.

"My boy, you were a bit gruff,
and crass I may say,
But you believed in me and dispite your rougher edges,
You never lost your faith."

I looked over to James,
Who's talking to Matthew,
Debating the best kind of fly for fishin,
And Jesus continues to me.

"While you stumbled a time or two,
And did some things that made me shake my head,
You did your best to be a better man,
So for that you can join in on this little meal,
and feast here with my friends."

I take in the scene before me,
The surrealness of it all,
And a smile creeps along my face,
But quickly falls with the same pace,
"But what of my family Jesus,
Are they alright after my death?"

He turns to me,
A smile in his eyes,
and lays my concerns at ease.

"They'll grieve you,
and in time they'll just join you here,
But for now let's finish up,
Because Mary makes a mean cobbler"

Snow falling slowly,
Muffling everything in sight,
The flakes like cotton *****,
Softening this morning light.

The wind is calm,
Bringing peace on this lake of ice,
Where down below lies the cold cold depths,
Down below,
Where my demons lie.

Such a juxtaposition,
Heaven and Hell,
Separated by the frozen water of my mind,
Serenity and Perdition,
Eternal reward and punishment,
So close and yet so distantly defined.

I look out upon the valley,
Where we lived out millions of lives,
All of our hopes and heartaches,
Births and deaths,
In that valley of flowers and dreams.

I met you so many times,
And each of those times I was blessed,
For in the few where we never met,
My heart ended up hollow and blank.

We struggled at times,
And sometimes we even failed,
But always together,
Never alone,
Not once adrift upon a sea of regrets.

You bolstered me in my aspirations,
Gave me courage and strength I knew not,
To conquer the mountains that seemed so insurmountable,
Where angels and demons were hesitant to trod.

Each of your deaths were a knife in my heart,
In those instances where I outlived you,
I broke into a million jagged pieces,
Lost without my guiding star.

But each time I would be able to slowly heal,
Brought back together by your future love.

I know not if we've done this countless times before,
Or if we will be able to have this countless times again,
But regardless of this,
Our lives shall be forever intertwined,
In the Valley of Flowers and Dreams...

Sitting in my bedroom,
That's become more of a waystation than a home,
For home to me is wherever you will be,
Zach Bryan crackles out the words I know I will think of,
When I am 20 years older,
And our son has left behind our home.

A traveler on his own journey,
Embarking to his own destination,
In time making his own mistakes,
But in them learning his own lessons,
And from that his own wisdom will be gained.

He will visit,
I know,
Although his first couple of visits will be too few and far between,
It will make you teary,
But knowing that it needs to happen all the same.

Those days to come seem so far away now,
Yet so close all the same,
But I know that we will eventually come to love every minute of it,
And wish we could live through it all again.