John Tustin writes

SUFFICE

The woman I love

and loved before I knew what love was

and loved when I forgot what love was

is on the other side of the city

with another

and I believe

she is

longing for me

as I long for her,

and the rain

beats my temples

outside the window

like a dozen hammers,

and I beat my breast

in silence,

but…

I sit halfway contented

like a saint,

like an imbecile,

like Buddha,

like Christ,

like me,

watching television,

eating and drinking copiously,

contemplating my sleeping

children,

those two last vestiges

of my humanity.

I even wrote

two poems.

On a night like tonight,

that suffices.

Amply,

even.

John Tustin writes

I MISS THE SNOW

(Tonight my heart is dark

And in need

Of a blanket made of snow.)

I know that it is snowing where you are now.

It’s so warm here and everyone around me

Tells me how lucky we all are

To not be where you are

As I drink beer after beer

To douse the pain in my left forearm

And my right shoulder

From the repetitiveness of the workday.

I miss the snow

And how the world around us would slow down

Then stand still for a moment

Except for the snow looking pristine

As it fell and accumulated under uncaring streetlamps.

I liked so much when the world slowed down a moment

When you were with me.

I liked so much when the snow fell

As we ate dinner and listened to music,

Made love and then slept back to back as the wind tried

To come in through the windows

But could not.

I know that it is snowing where you are now.

I miss the snow, how it would look perfect and glistening at night

Before the cars and people would molest its dominance

Upon the street of the night

When morning rose.

I miss the snow much the way I miss

Hearing you sigh in your sleep

The few nights I was lucky enough

To lie beside you,

Dreams being something in those nights

Unnecessary.

Superfluous.