Displaced

I excavate an off key twang

that wants to be the song you sang

the first time I absorbed your voice.

To drown my ears, my mouth, my eyes

still cannot insulate my mind

from sleeping on the easy choice.

Street scenes are a condensate

of everything you love and hate.

The glory days and sweet relief,

so soft to touch and smooth to taste,

miss the balm to soothe the grief

of time and objects left to waste.

Distractions by the second hand

let hours sneak past what I’d planned.

Were they lost or just displaced?