Tag Archives: the poem she thought he wrote

100 Reasons

Message wishing well
Remained without reply.
There could be a hundred reasons why,

But only time will tell
Which holds and which are pared away:
Sunny day, she went out to play.

Hearing a bell,
Afraid of for whom it tolls,
She hid beneath a stack of bed rolls.

Still unwell,
Too sick to move,
Too far removed from her daily groove.

Flames to quell,
House now ash,
Batteries drained too fast.

Riding atop a tiger through a dell,
Durga at her side,
She went into the fray and died.

Boarding, she fell;
Now wearing a cone,
Paramedics lost her phone.

Sulphur smell,
Evacuated in haste;
Neighborhood in natural gas encased.

Going through hell,
No desire to talk,
At communication balks.

Overdosed on kale,
Her face turned pale then blue,
The Heimlich no one knew.

Heard a cowbell
On a mountain side,
In pursuit still, ’tis why she hadn’t replied.

The story Occam’s razor sells:
Far less glamorous,
Nothing cadaverous;

Internet is unwell,
Or notifications don’t show
Due to settings overflow.

© 2021 H.K. Longmore