An elegiac ode
The time has nearly come,
Her next phase now looms on the horizon.
We can feel her excitement: with it the air hums.
She counts the days aloud; one chokes on a tisane.
“What will you do when I’m gone?” she inquires.
Comes her friend’s reply, “I’ll be sad.”
“The person who replaces me will be so rad,
You’ll forget me in a month.” Aye, if that were desired.
Nay, not even then:
Life of the party, the party planner;
Infectious energy, flirtatious manner;
Always in memory, e’en if not in ken.
Another swallows hard, hearing;
Her mannerisms still endearing,
Even as she is heading out the door,
Perhaps to be seen nevermore.
He’ll likely have to leave soon thereafter:
Ghosts of conversation, lingering laughter,
Conjured up at every corner, echo ’round his head;
For his body and brain become lead.
His absence will start with a change in lunchtime venue:
In the break room he’ll become persona perdu.
Lunch hour will be for music instead of food,
A means to dampen his brooding mood.
And yet that won’t be enough
To fill the void, to try to forget.
He’ll still have to hang tough:
No paillette can steal the vignettes of this brunette.
Some might say she would have stayed,
That he could have made it so;
But to her desk he no longer strayed.
His head says he chose wisely;
The pain in his heart betrays a “No!”
In a month’s time you think he’d forget?
Au contraire, mon chéri;
Forgive the expression and be not wary:
In this matter I think you’re all wet.
©2015 H.K. Longmore