ron yazinski




Your love began with sex, and ends that way too.
And you ignore the expectant mid-act yawn,
And then the final pat on the back as if you had just hit a good tee shot,
Because you know you can count on old habits.
Your body responds
As if itís standing in front of the candy machine at work.
You avert your eyes so that
You canít see the reflection of your sorry face or ample gut.
With muscle memory you insert your money,
And press the same buttons youíve pressed for the last decade,
And out drops something you no longer have the appetite for,
But take it simply because itís there.

If youíre lucky, the divorce will be amicable.
By which is meant
She gets the house and the bed with the expensive linens
You stole from that high class Bermuda resort,
As proof you once had the balls to do anything for her.
In turn, you have your pills and bad eating habits,
And the urn you two bought on that honeymoon,
Which was going to hold your mingled ashes forever.

Now, itís where you keep your change for the candy machine.


Ron Yazinski's poems have appeared in many journals, including The Mulberry Poets and Writers Association, Strong Verse, The Bijou Review, The Edison Literary Review, Jones Av., Chantarelleís Notebook, Centrifugal Eye,, Nefarious Ballerina, The Talon, Amarillo Bay, The Write Room, Pulsar, Sunken Lines, Wilderness House, Blast Furnace, and The Houston Literary Review. He is also the author of the chapbook HOUSES: AN AMERICAN ZODIAC, and a book of poems SOUTH OF SCRANTON.


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