September 10, 2024Abyss
The word shadowed the lines
of a friend’s poem just as
it had found its way
into others he shared.
He said that he was the last Romantic poet
and I politely nodded.
His voice quivered as he read
line after line as if the poem was real.
I said to myself, not again.
He said that poets needed to suffer
like the friend who embraced her delusions
and they spoke on the phone every day.
He said that when he read Baudelaire
to his girlfriend he almost got laid
yet they liked arguing about politics
in the middle of dates.
When he argued with me
I said I just wanted to enjoy the nightlights.
He lamented the death of Sylvia
as if in love.
I said she liked to keep a clean house
but now she’s dead.
When I read him a poem
about blossoms and trees
and sunlight
he said I wasn’t confessional.
The night he shaved his wrist
he trembled.
I drove him to the emergency room
bearing the weight of his life.
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Prompt: Write a poem with your least favorite word to see in a poem as the title. Include an explanation of why it’s your least favorite in the submission note.