It was so damn easy:
He thought he’d suffer
that nervous breakdown
all infantile lovers are prone to;
he didn’t have to guzzle down
gin at sleazy bars
& wear on his arms
the tattoos of loss & grief;
he didn’t have to call up
cellphone friends
to intimate his days of woe –
It was so damn easy
to take a walk in the park
& rest his body on the grass
in the deep splendor of the night…
Nothing is so mysterious, really,
for the world moves on indifferently:
The mornings after
shake off hangovers
with sweet smell of hot coffee –
indeed, nothing of that sort
that will make him scream
in dramatic flair
to forget like a metallic punk rock
the pretty bitch.

It was before daybreak
when he vacated the house
& the empty bed
to be warmed by the summer sun –
She had , after all, gone earlier.
In his mind
she was never there, anyway.
So he left nothing
& no one.

They say, everyone moves on.
That’s a universal law.
As if things never matter.
& memory is just a blank wall.
Somehow, there must be a better way
than lapsing into amnesia.

Years later
they might cross paths
& realize
they were really complete strangers
as they had always feared.

Yes, after all
the secret tears
at the heart’s wailing wall,
he remembered
in Homeric fashion
the peppermint chocolate
at Starbucks.

Passion is damn overrated,
he moaned.
In Israel, after a suicide bombing
things “quickly
return to normal”.

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