Pouring me into the gutter

I mattered once; my inbox held the proof
Before you mailed your last dismissive thought:
Casting me off like rain from a slate roof.
I overflow the gutters.  I am fraught
With downpouring plenty, living and wet,
Prodigal before the impending drought.
Bright blooms drip fecund, unaware of threat,
Or coming inward creep of shriv’ling doubt
That I ever counted, that there was rain
Enough for verdant lawns, azaleas sprung,
Green leaves in shades too brilliant to remain
Once dull dry dust blew in and silence stung.
Your sun bright indifference hurts me more
Than they ever could when I was their whore.

Advertisement