The Poem That Eludes Him

He hasn't talked for months.
Just the coffee brews.
But his tongue is going all the time.
How come "he don't see me no more"?
I'm right in front of him,
dangling the pages
of our love--just my little secret
for a composed computer
never ceasing,
my back low and hidden.
He hasn't gotten out his expensive harmonica
from the Curio for so long.
In fact, nothing from the Curio is becoming
touched.
Love, displayed, is all.
I gave him a diamond ring but he had to make
two payments, unselfishly.
Shortly, I will buy him the silver moon
but it costs me onions.
He cut off two fingers last summer,
how sad! I know his wings are pumping
but is he still happy?
I will launder faithfully for him.
The general comment is his wardrobe
is modest.
I wanted King Size for him too many times.
The back deck chairs almost blew away
in the snow.
At least, they toppled upside down and
gone public.
Me, I feel wrinkle.
I'll find him tonight and rejoice for my sanity.

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