The Return of Mr. Trenchcoat, a poem
This is a poem called The Return of Mr. Trenchcoat
The Return of Mr. Trenchcoat
The dog jumped into the pond, that's
all she said in a language nobody in
the room could understand. What she was going through,
I never figured out. How to see
the fourth dimension, but sometimes,
I can hear it. Calling out to the void,
screaming, she tries her best to reawaken
communication.
Gallons upon gallons of milk is being
wasted, she screamed for the fifteenth
time in a language nobody in her "inner
circle" could understand. Why she kept
them around, I never asked.
We studied soul-centered astrology, she
whispered to her younger self in a language
she hadn't yet learned. As I listened, I
became a victim of my own ambition.
I am who I am because I chose not to be,
she said aloud to nobody in an empty room
in a language she was quickly forgetting. That
metaphysical tormentor relentlessly gnawed
her to bits. My vicarious tasted her.
I'm sitting on a tower in my mind's
eye, she thought in no language at all.
I'm the one who was wasting all that milk.