I’ve seen you

I saw you as a bleach blond,
I saw you as a Clairol brunette,
I saw you in your curlers
And a funky black hair net,

I’ve seen you in a bathrobe,
Bunny slippers and flannel jammies,
A tight full black body stocking
And sexy silk thong panties.

I saw you all painted up,
I saw you without it too,
I saw you in the bed at night
With face covered in green goo.

I’ve seen you at your best and worse,
When you were right or wrong,
But the last time I ever saw you,
You said adios, goodbye, I’m gone.

Now the dogs are eating better,
They don’t worry, whine or fret,
I don’t have bad dreams in my sleep,
I don’t break out in cold night sweats.

I’m thankful for the things you are,
For defining what the word woman can mean,
But watching your big old backside depart,
Was the best of you I have ever seen.

©2011, Donald Harbour

Reflections in a fun house mirror

This poem is written in the form of an epistle. It is an ancient poetic form that dates back to the Romans and the Bible. An epistle poem is written as a letter. There is no rhyme or meter to this form. Its name is from the Latin word epistola, which means letter. Generally the content of an epistle is to express love, philosophy, religion and morality.
***************************************************
I
Last night I lay awake
watching the diode glow
of the alarm clock.
Time would not stop.
All I could do was view
its slow progression
toward dawn.

II
There is a rancid flavor
to the coagulated and
molded lime jelly in the frig.
It has been that way since
you began your rant
about red meat, cheese, butter
and everything not vegetarian.

III
Yesterday as I traveled
homeward I had salacious
thoughts. The day was a
bustle of meetings but
the images in my mind
spoon fed the yearning to see you,
be with you, hold you.

IV
Just below my consciousness
is sweet elocution like a worn-out
8-Track, the tape spliced, changed
by the coarse rubbing spindles
of our lives. Our song the froth
of pounding ocean surf.
Salty tears have slowed the tune.

V
Now you want to fling away
the entirety of years staggering
through life with a crippled hitch
in our step. A parting cleaved
with denial reflected in a fun house
mirror. The joke is on us. I ask you:
Where is the fun in that?

Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour