Mad Dog Revival

Every time I see you
it tears me apart like a mad dog-sans-muzzle
because I know that “Goodbye” has to be said,
and saying “Goodbye”
seems to misplace pieces of heart,
until it echoes an unfinished
jigsaw puzzle on a charity shop shelf.

Each time I pass the bench,
where we both sat on that wonderfully strange,
inebriated night,
I lose a little slice of soul –
it surprises me that I still have
one left to lose.
The bench was where we laid down
our truths
like a pair of folded royal flushes;
we knew neither of us were born to be winners.

On that night, we staggered and fell
into the mad dog’s cage
until a black taxi came for you
and it was over.

We parted ways,
with the madness
in our eyes;
we held each other
for what seemed an age,
and in that moment
everything seemed good in the world,
anything seemed possible.

The taxi took off,
the dog went back to sleep,
and I was
alone.

And then the crippling wind
bit me
and the sobering ground
hit me.

I always take the long way home,
that bench still stands there –
eyeless and staring back,
teasing with the possibilities,
the could-have-beens.