MIDNIGHT AND SORROW

Spinning in a circle

Phonograph record turntable

Or the revolving chamber of a gun

Though one implies violence

And the other not

A bullet might be a swifter

And more humane end

To the fragile identity

Of my old sweet friend

Than a tune repeated

Endlessly

Till the grooves in the vinyl

Wear down

And the needle skips crazy arcs

Into gibberish

She phones me at midnight

Chanting

“Love, love, love…”

I tell her, “Wake up to reality!”

But she won’t listen to me

She begs to hear

What I cannot tell her

But still I feel

Her sorrow

And loneliness

Somewhere far away

Bleeding into a telephone.

About Steven Gulvezan:

Steven Gulvezan tries to work a story or poem the way a good butcher works a nice piece of meat – cut out most of the fat and gristle, leave something juicy on the bone.  Links to some of his writings may be found at:  http://www.mysterywriters.org/user/607