DYSTOPIAN Poem: Harris’ Crossroads, by Michael Miller

I’ve written about you before, typed pages and
pages
about you and I.
It has been years since we last spoke, longer since meeting
but I think of you often.
The woman next to me is nothing like you
at all,
and that is good.

Yet often in those intrusive stale, steely hours between
wake and sleep
dream and nightmares
insanity and lucid thought,
you come creeping back like Germans
over the Alsatian line.

The crickets amongst pallid wind whisper
you over the cut lawns and framed homes.
You drove me mad and I drove you away,
word by word
cruel act after cruel act
lie
by
lie.

Reflecting on previous poesy
immature and false it was,
I now know the fool some folly
and can testify to those
dubious and duplicitous acts
so many sunsets ago
as Oahu dimmed a dangerous red.

Author: poetryfest

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