DON'T MIND ME

A tide of tears rises to my point
a rushing wall of memory
so many lovers in review
momentary
so no tear fall
before the novelty of the present
rings its attention
over my senses
and lunch looms
blatant, organic, insistent, hot.

It happens often
this sentimental eruption
triggered by a word, a scene
a walk-by
a smell, a taste
a shadow.

More as years become desperados
and values become pointed
shouted in hollow rooms
when I pass through
always in a hurry.

(Eye of The Wolf)