After Your Flight Leaves

 

     By Julian Richardson

 

 

      Once I make it home

      There will be no ring at my door

      No text messages sent to my phone

      No one will be laying in my bed

5    Or sitting in my kitchen

      Sipping coffee at three in the morning

      Or watching tele at four in the afternoon

      While nothing is on but weird cartoons

      And the news outlets speaking of misfortune

 

10  I won’t have to wash my face

      No one will be there to see it

      To catch my morning mug

      Altered to a familiar appearance

 

      I won’t have to clean my room

15  After weeks of dirty clothes pile

      In the corners of my room

      And in front of the washer.

 

      There won’t be a running shower

      A shadow sneaking from the bathroom

20 To the bedroom

      And back again.

 

      Or music playing at six in the evening

      Upbeat jazz swings that reassured my soul.

 

      A flame will not burn from a candle

25  Set on a coffee table in an open space

      The smell of cigarettes will subside

      Incense will replace it.

 

      The living room will begin to look dull

      And your voicemail box will become full

30 The kitchen will gather dust

      And my speaker will play less

      The tele will not be turned on

      And my bed will remain empty