He would climb my walls with great ambition
Only to fall belly first into the deep
Black pit of my expectations
And some comfort I might offer him
From the shallow pockets of my love if only
I did not hate so quickly his name which embraces my tissues.
What I do recall though so painfully is that his last name never came with him.
Call me a fool to only remember his face,
But I possessed just that:
The memory of a fool
Used like a broken black road
Traveled by
So many men with no last names back to the women that keep them.
Kyle Hamp
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-memory-of-a-fool/
