“Strange,” he thinks, quietly to himself,
Climbing the suddenly-too-steep staircase,
“Strange how the world turns
Around a moment in a relationship” :
For earlier, he watched love shade
Change to pity then full-blast ranting hatred.
“Strange, ” he cannot stop thinking now
That he’s started …
“The world is turning around this latest demand”.
He means the single white pill, so tinily perfect –
Balanced like an equation-to-be
In the bowl of a silver spoon.
Reflections come, twist, haunt and pass on.
Quiet desert fire isolation,
Wild, decibel-loaded parties,
Southern belt skies, dreams of
Oaks and queens and
Better-when bad princesses,
White bannisters, warm apples,
Good company on journeys-far-from home.
Reaching the familiar-for-once carpeted landing
He pauses to rescue a breath, reminds himself:
“Those who choose to dance with clowns
Would do well to remember how quickly,
How well, how completely they recover from falls.”