BALLPOINT
Her pretty hand
held the weapon lightly.
She noticed not the wedding band
though it shone and was easy
by the candle's light, to see.
Her fountain pen made swirls
and curves and scallops
like pretty girls
are wont to do with skates
in ice rink spots~
Her i's she capped with circles instead of dots
and, though her script was pretty
and her paper dusty rose
one could only pity
the man who received her prose.
It's over.
Now he knows.
His large, large hand
held the ballpoint clumsily
and he,
thinking only of his golden band
that, in his mind's eye,
he could see upon her hand
as he also took a look
into her withered heart
then closed the notebook
on his hard earned, scrawling prose,
looked about himself one time more.
Yes, he knows...
Noone heard the sound;
he'd very carefully closed the door.
His note to her he left behind
using words, sad but kind,
her tender feelings to annoint
the best he could
with just ballpoint.
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