Poetry from Frankie Laufer

  Apocalypse Now:
 Just like Apocalypse now, heavy breath - 1,2,3, controlled and focused.
  Descending steps sounding loud and crisp, only deep reflection floating on top.
  In the mind a painting appears, dark, mysterious, Black and Tan.. light too in the center. Don’t disturb this.
  A heavy white page is now turning, a story in its own right with no explanation or talking needed.
  A sudden revelation emerges but it’s too sudden and too revealing . 
 Turning another page now. 
 They would talk now. The time had finally arrived. He had gotten what he desired, a chance to express all the hurt and confusion caused by her reckless behavior, a betrayal. She often told him he was so gracious and kind. He would not be today. He would hold her accountable now. 

 The heart in hiding was now unexpectedly stirred by her voice. A meek hello as she answered the phone. Damn, where were the notes he had meticulous jotted down, his shopping list of topics to be covered? Each point meant to be delivered with just the right tone and effect, causing some uneasiness in her, and yes, some hurt, too. He found his pace and words poured out in a frenzy like rapid brush strokes he applied in one of his paintings. He wasn't just saying it, he was reliving the whole relationship. Her silence indicating she was finally taking him seriously. Then he heard a small groan from her, followed by tears. This did not bode well for his script. 

 It felt good...no, it felt bad. This was not his nature. 
 This was a love lost, but not forgotten. Now he did what he had always done in her time of distress. His heart rose to take the wheel, his intellect pushed to the backseat. His voice, his words, comforted them both like a bird's sweet song. She felt better now. He did too, finally. 
 He suddenly located his notes, but realized they were not needed on the gracious road.