The Funeral of an Ex
—a poem by John Grey

Gone without short dresses and big eyes
on a rainy winter afternoon,
your memory in my head,
the remedy all mourners work with,
my time going on.
yours withering in the chill.

Strangers put you down,
a good soul
amid an American city
while I retreat to my home
to see how well
I can weep for other beings,
years after longing
has reduced itself to inevitability.

I look over my shoulder
as I walk to the car.
What do I expect?
That you will follow me?

But nothing to worry.
The dark has no interest
in what is left of the light.
My footsteps are mine alone,
to crumble on their own time-table.

On the way home,
I wonder where you've really gone.
No real joy there, I expect.
But no cruel debts either.
But what do I know?
You have made yourself the deepest of secrets.

I cruise the streets aggrieved
while hailing the voice
of a wailing songstress
on the radio.
It will have to do
until some old photograph comes along.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Gargoyle and Big Muddy Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Cape Rock and Spoon River Poetry Review.