Not a whisper is heard
nor a shadow be seen.
When she gave me the word
it was vicious and lean.
And she looked so pathetic
walking down to the bus,
left behind 'the emetic'
and the ending of 'us'.
Cardboard suitcase with strap
and a small sailor's duffle,
pretty Moulin Rouge cap,
so determined her shuffle.
No, she never did turn,
couldn't bear to remember.
Oh, that women would learn
that it's cold in December!
Then the bus driver honked,
so that chapter was closed.
Now the lift door had clunked....
there she came, snivel-nosed.
'Need to talk about this',
as she dropped her small case,
'come and give us a kiss,
with your sorry old face.'
And that night it was me,
with my suitcase in hand,
as I left to be free
in a far away land.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-end-5/
