Though your chair is empty now <br />Your overripe sorrows linger. <br />More pungent than the soft, warm fruit <br />Always piled up high in that tattered basket <br /> <br />On the table between us. <br />Without the hovering fruit flies, wafting cigarette smoke <br />And your drawn on eyebrows to distract me <br />I really notice the yellowed, floral patterned wallpaper. <br /> <br />It all has to go.<br /><br />Francis Santaquilani<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-all-has-to-go/
