The Woman in the Mirror
having finally dispatched
.. . . . . .the fly
that has pestered me
taunting me on my many inaccuracies
with the red fly swatter
sharing my toast in the morning
without invitation
walking the silent circumference lip
of my coffee cup
who rests now wrapped
in a Kleenex in the trash can
.. . . . . .good Lord how
I miss him
by Doris Watts
Editor’s Note: This poem’s central metaphor cleverly shows the reader how much you can miss a thing (or person) that you thought was only an annoyance. Grief is weird like that.
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