Mister Ominous

by Lana Broussard 7 months ago in heartbreak


Mister Ominous

Dear Louise,

I want you to know

It’s okay here

at the corner of Arbor & Third

where the English ivy vines

and cannas warble praises

of one stoic summer.

The seasons run

like blue veins

pockmarked by calendar time

each year bleeding into the next

broken arteries.

Sometimes I dwell in the hallway

where old photos hang

you, the kids, all gone, gone, gone.

I remember the days

autumn blowing through your hair

raven vixen

the floral beauty of your skirt

the sweet touch of the skin of fingers,

but that’s over now.

Sometimes I wonder if you are

the consort of some Italian race car driver

or if you are moonlighting with a suited

mafia man

partying casino style in Nice

the smell of money

flaring in your nostrils.

No seriously, I’m okay Louise.

I’d say that you probably didn’t rate

a sinewy hunk

instead, you most likely landed

a middle-aged dumpy man

with a mild inheritance

and busy taking care of Mother.

I noticed in your photos

that your nose is slightly crooked.

You really weren’t all that Louise;

sorry to tell you.

I think I miss the kids more

their little youthful ghosts

roaming the stairs

scraping the back porch

where the watercolor paints

have fossilized in tins.

I think I’m giving this place up,

maybe go to Korea,

get some dental implants

work on a new me.

I’ve gotten professor soft

letting time swallow me up in this backyard

scribbling my lessons

and a diary of insanity.

It’s time to leave here.

That’s really it, Louise.

Hopefully this message

born of fingers

sent to air

will find you out there, somewhere

provided you have not been silenced

your panther heart stopped

and your voice finally becoming

as brittle as your bones.

Lana Broussard
Lana Broussard
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Lana Broussard

Lana Broussard writes primarily under the pen name, L.T. Garvin. She writes fiction, poetry, essays, and humor. She is the author of Confessions of a 4th Grade Athlete, Animals Galore, The Snjords, and Dancing with the Sandman.

See all posts by Lana Broussard