I think of you as the sad trees turn blue.
You wear a black opal necklace and earrings.
I don’t wear a necklace but I love opals.
You’re the sole passenger on the plane.
You dine on the sole, the plain bread, and peas.
When you leave the terminal you drive home.
Your husband terminal, driving toward home.
On board you flirted with the bored attendant.
You felt strange flirting with the bored attendant.
You tiptoe by the room where your husband sleeps.
He snores as he sleeps and your thoughts tiptoe.
The burden is almost over, you tell me.
I want to share your burden, feel bad I can’t,
but I think of you as the sad trees turn blue.
About David Spicer
David has published over 600 poems in magazines such as Santa Clara Review, Moria, Oyster River Pages, and elsewhere. Nominated for a Best of the Net three times and a Pushcart twice, he is author of six chapbooks, the latest being Tribe of Two. His third collection, American Maniac, will soon be available from Hekate publishing. His website is http://www.davidspicer76.com