by Jim Mackey

Tell the chairs to tell the tables
And don't forget the bed.
Pull each book aside, one by one
So they feel no less special than the others.
Wait until morning
For the tired lamps to know.
They've been up all night with the blinds
Who hid the truth from the windows.
Tell the couch to put away the quilt
And hush the pillows
From retelling conversations
Word for word.
We all tip toe around the phone,
So stoic since you've gone,
Quiet in the tragedy of the truth.

Last words from rolling Gower Street
Wrapped in wires
And wet all the way
To the long skies west of the Grace.
There's a busy silence in the apartment,
We're all hard at work
At getting back to lonely.

Jim Mackey is from Newfoundland and lives in New Brunswick where he practices the dark trade of advertising. He remains an old ex-patriot human being.