© Christopher Raine


When You Think of Us

Has enough time passed
For us to laugh again?
Does the bitter pill
still stick in your dry throat?
Has the liquor mellowed
and smoothed with age or does
it bite with unceremonious venom?

I see you there, across the table,
your arms folded across your chest,
shielded Roman sentries
with golden eagle crests
that do not move or fly.
Nostalgia for another time,
perhaps, when your hair has greyed,
your breasts have sagged,

your supple skin thinned out

like rolled parchment,
when your face is worn with the trial
of countless travels
Maybe then,
when you look upon the journey
and sigh softly,
closing your eyes for the last time,
will you smile
when you think of us?