May 19th, 2009


Some crappy writing that my professor will praise

Melissa Abrams
Poem #4

To the one who was not 'the one'.

You research my every curve to etch it into your finest memories.
I glance hastily at you, remembering to buy ketchup.
The smear on your mouth is embarrassing.

Your wings are spread, a seagull waiting to pounce on a
tuna sandwich, perfection from the bird's eye.
I am your alka-seltzer tab.

You're putting your hand on mine as your tears flow, distorting
my image into hand-selected wishes that you require.
My hand, it struggles.

You are on your knee, stationary for the moment.
My legs are free.
I run.