Weekends

I spent the weekend
Doing just what I wanted
Sitting alone at home
Talking to no one
And thinking

I played some new songs
On my beat up stereo
And sung along
With all the passion
I ever had

I read some out of a pulp novel
I bought at an airport
And wrote a little
A poem or two
But nothing too good

I picked up the old guitar
From next to my bed
With the broken string
And played three notes
Then put it back down

I turned my stereo back on
And played a tape
That had been given to me
By a good friend
Who moved away last year

I remembered how we
Spent our weekends together
With me on the guitar
And her singing softly
Her voice choking on emotion

I spent the weekend
Doing just what I hated
Sitting alone right here
Talking to nobody
And crying
With all that I held
Within
'til the pain went away


Don Lippincott

©2001

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