Cherry Lips

This story was my last attempt at trying and starting something with a girl. Luckily, she is now married, gave birth to a boy, and apparently forgave me for breaking her heart on that sunny day, next to the broken swing.

Stood like a broken lamppost,

in the central park,

same place as before,

two benches,

a somewhat broken swing,

so quiet, silent cemetery.

/

I came on time,

but she was waiting,

next movement, hug,

sudden taste of cherry,

was she wearing it last time?

/

Small talk,

light walk,

towards the bench,

where we talk,

I smoke,

usual complaint.

/

I suggest we stroll to town,

to the place that I know,

where I can take control

of this shaky raft,

minute longer

and it sinks,

Mayday,

TTT!

/

She wants to stay,

I know what's coming next,

I see it in her cheeks and eyes,

movement of the hand, different kind of smile.

/

I look around,

in search of a passerby, dog walker,

but silence doesn't want to be disturbed,

bored out of its mind, became a drama-critic,

popcorn ready, waiting for this commercial to end.

/

I blamed myself for coming,

for making her believe

that something can be changed.

Now even starting

felt barely impacting.

/

Tears, calls,

remarks not worthy

of those cherry lips.

/

I was seventeen you know,

and I told you that I'm gay,

but you wanted child,

how should we call him,

Abraham or Shmulik?