G is for: Gum

You came up front, you said, to tell the truth,

Not to re-tell the tale, not to pretend

You had tilled this land, nor had held

Your ear close enough to the ground

To hear the sounds it made.

What now for your lost words that seem to come

From the edge of another universe,

To which I deemed bridges open,

Retreating when your answer failed

To arrive in due time.

Yet I find myself renewing your claim,

Letting things fall, as they do, to the ground.

I would rather retreat than fight,

Seeing signs in our history

That warned of this ending.

Such as returning, to stick your used gum

On the underside of the table, a

Trap for some unsuspecting knee

Which could have, in another world,

been either you or me.

Popping a fresh wad into my mouth, I

Pay no heed to your distant homily

On which I wished to turn tables,

Noting that I had not seen you

In the chamber or near.

Unsurprisingly, impatiently, then

I stand nearby, awaiting your exit.

Behind the shades, like an agent,

Glaring, chewing, not gesturing,

But quietly watching.  

11/24/25

(C) 2025 Dave Soyars