by Richard Schnap





She passed by a toy shop

And saw a little girl

Reflected in the window

With a smile that seemed drawn


Then a jewelry store where

A young woman looked back

Wearing a gold necklace

Wrapped tight around her throat


Next a small boutique

With a lifelike mannequin

In a black leather jacket

And a long linen shroud


And finally a salon

Mirroring a model

Whose lips were wide open

But whose eyes were shut tight



a black line




My mother refused

To be buried by my father

And willed that her tombstone

Bore just her maiden name


So now there’s a space

That divides both their coffins

Reminding me of how

They slept in separate beds


But when I go visit

On birthdays and holidays

I can’t help but notice

The grave reserved for me


And if I may someday

Choose to be cremated

Let my ashes be scattered

Where lovebirds weave their nests



a black line




She first beheld him

In the back of a bus

As if it was a seat

Reserved solely for him


As the light in his eyes

Burned red like the sun

That seemed to be rising

And falling at once


And the closer she came

The farther he appeared

Like an Impressionist painting

That faded when approached


Until he became

Nothing more than a shadow

Slowly disappearing

Back into his night


a black line

More poetry from Winamop

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