Apples and Oranges
Every poem ought to have two endings
One version ends with a hand job
Behind the high school concession stand
The other with a chaste kiss
Under a mossy bridge,
You and all the trolls.
Everything is the same
Up until the final stanza:
The puppy survives another razor's edge day
So the old hound can finally die in peace
A girl is rescued in the nick of time
Just as the killer decides to go into therapy
In one version you see where I’m going with this
But in the other your eyes glaze over in disgust
One ends as sacred mystery
While the other is just a bust
For the poet, endings are interchangeable
One night I give you this one
Maybe tomorrow its secret partner
But if you read them back to back
They tend to self annihilate
In a flash of blinding light
Like the doomed ending
To every electron
And its positron partner.
Your surprised look won’t make any sense to me
From my perspective
I see no difference.
It’s like a bushel of apples
With all the rot and bruise weeded out
No matter how it ends
I always feel the same
Gutting wound of loss.
As for heroes:
Sometimes he lives
Sometimes he dies
Yes, I’m a quasi- regular guy
Albeit weird and strange
Wandering through kaleidoscope orchards
Looking for someone to save
All I have to give you
Is yet another apple
That you, for some reason, keep calling
An orange
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