Poetry

SYNDROME – Tom Gazdag

I only kidnap
things that torment me.

Mostly memories,
and these I feed well,
shelter,
allow letters to home
with assurances that
all is well.

Now there are FEMA trucks
running and dissipating
through my captive;
it seems there’s a strong rain
that went and
snatched it some.

How does one steal something so torn up?
How does one detonate
what was already
detritus smoldering?

The coffee is cold
and
tastes like something dead,
a macro-penance
I gladly pay.

A man asks me for a cigarette.
“I’m trying to quit,” he assures me,
but we both know
sometimes these things do the quitting for you.

On the boardwalk and beach:
dreams, exoskeletons,
so very alike.

I’ll get in close,
catch hold,
and they’ll sting me
for as long
as I want them to.

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3 thoughts on “SYNDROME – Tom Gazdag

  1. Tom Gazdag submitted one poem, which embodies decay and natural disaster. I especially enjoyed the line “sometimes these things do the quitting for you.”

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