Originally appeared in The Vocabula Review, December, 2007
The hour gone, he drained a second drink,
Unwrapped the cookie from its plastic seal—
“Life is a tragedy for those who feel,
And a comedy for those who think.”
A sign, these words appearing a lunch
To which she hadn’t showed. Their fate had sealed
At last and what was left?—pink sauce congealed,
An unfilled booth, substantiated hunch.
Why do we look at placemat horoscopes
And study tealeaves in a broken bowl?
Superstition haunts the friendless hour
With arcane hieroglyphs and hollow tropes.
In pairs, we ridicule the gullible.
Alone, we pull the petals from a flower.