Every Sunday Dinner
for L.M.M.

in spite of our duet
so many minutes, days, years
I’ve had to play all alone

occasionally, when she shows up
she imagines we’re just going on

when in between her turning up
and turning back
upon the stage which all the world is
I have to appear, alone

face the audience with whatever music
I can muster, I can make a capella

my poems are these songs
melodies I make
some of them I whip out
many of them I weep out

out in the rain when the weather’s bad
unable to go inside
no inside to what I must at times
live through

out in the elements all alone


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
11:49 p.m. 24/11/07