“Eclipsed” by Matt Rouse

There is something he forgot

Something he had do to today

 

He stands in the driveway

Next to the black BMW

Taps his foot on the cracked cement

Next to the red rusted sewer grate

And rubs his index finger

Around the socket of his eye

 

Something important …he forgot

 

He jingles his keys back and forth

From an anxious dangled limb

His lips alternate between

Puckers and grimaces

He rocks to and fro

On his black and white converse

 

There was a favor

Someone asked him to do

 

Now he turns his nose up

And sniffs in evening air

Like a chinchilla senses danger

His eyes dart nervously

Across the neighbor’s lawn

No, that wasn’t it

 

There is something he forgot

It was someone’s birthday

Or wedding

Or funeral

 

He closes his eyes

And sees a canyon

Rise up from a dried up river

The image burnt in neon

On the insides of his lids

 

He goes inside

And sits on the futon

By the heater

Pours himself a glass

And watches the ring

That forms below

A hollow circle

When he takes a drink

A planet eclipses

 

Then he remembers

Sitting next to her

In the emergency room

And the smell of blood

Between her legs

He looks at the pictures

Of his two daughters

Would it have been a brother

Or a sister?

 

She doesn’t need to be reminded

She always remembers

He always forgets


Matt Rouse lives in Orange County where he writes and practices controlled burns at poetry readings. He has been published online at culturedvultures.com and won numerous spoken word competitions.

Photo Credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/markusspiske/

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