There were three of us
that summer
you me &
that funny Mr. Hitler
all coming
together
perfectly poised
in our trajectory
as if it were
our destiny.
For us there would never be
another summer
storm clouds
gathering on an horizon
rooks rising angrily into the air
you fading into
memory
yellowing photographs
in which you never age.
Mr Hitler
and his Charlie Chaplin moustache
nothing but a page
in a history book
you
never coming back
me forever
going back
to a point
in time
when I could call you
mine...mine!
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mine-41/
