Gone by Pris Campbell



His last clear memory
was sailing over the hood of a car
from his bicycle seat,
brain reduced to that of a child,
this man who used to be
so brilliant, the top of his game,
an undeterred star.

Earlier, after my divorce,
he offered me his services,
said he was a good lover,
would please me
should I let him.
He didn’t take my hand.
No attempt at a kiss.
A reasonable transaction,
like he ran his job, his therapy
sessions to placate the woman
who was still his wife.

I said no.

I wonder if he remembers me now,
if he would cut out a valentine,
hand me chocolate candies,
if I appeared by his side.
Would sweet stirrings in his groin
remind him vaguely
of the man he once was.

img_2555The poems of Pris Campbell have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including PoetsArtists, Rusty Truck, Bicycle Review, Chiron Review, and Outlaw Poetry Network. The Small Press has published eight collections of her poetry and Clemson University Press a collaboration with Scott Owens. When The Wolves Come After You, with Michael Parker, from Goss Publications and Squalls on the Horizon, a book of tanka, from Nixes Mate are her most recent small press books. A former Clinical Psychologist, sailor and bicyclist until sidelined by ME/CFS in 1990, she makes her home in the Greater West Palm Beach, Florida, with her husband.

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