Sunday Poetry by Gerry Fabian.

Just Alone

One gray tear
slides across
wrinkled cheeks,
wets the edges
of shriveled lips
and slips
drooping jowls
to fall
on a bare wood

On the left: ‘’Female Nude” by Alexandre-Jean Dubois-Drahonet (detail) from @paintings.daily

FDR And The Great Depression

You visit the skeleton of your grandmother
because it is finally Sunday.
she has made
the overpriced one bedroom
Social Security rest stop
smell like
the cornerstones of your youth.
All goes well
and she recites the same stories
over and over;
you still laugh honestly.
as is her medical custom,
she details
the previous month’s obituary pages
word for word
and the beef liver supper
even with all its iron
can’t fortify you
beyond nine o’clock.

Frank Bernard Dicksee, British, 1853-1938; The Mother, 1907 from @paintingdetail

And It Has Come To This

Standing in line at McDonald’s
because their app promises a free drink
with any dollar purchase,
I notice three brown moles
below the left ear of the woman
standing in front of me.
I know those moles.
I have kissed those moles.
The woman turns to look at me.
Her blue eyes, now a bit smaller,
still enchant me.
The slanted nose, full lips,
rounded breasts –
are memory shakers.
The two children by her side
must be grandkids.
She smiles.
It is her come hither smile
now somewhat wrinkled.
After a year and a half of dating,
she broke it off
to marry a brick layer turned developer.
It was a disaster.
I read about the divorce
in the paper and felt
a huge sense of vindication.
I was younger and still hurt.
“We should go to dinner.”
I hear myself saying.
“I’d like that”
and she approaches the counter
to order
“Happy Meals”.

Support Gerry Fabian by visiting his website

Cover painting: Étienne-Adolphe Piot, French, 1825-1910, Sappho from @paintingdetail

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