Ode to Erin

Our heart aches for the one that got away.

No Rascal Flatts or Little John suffice

To bring to life our phantom limb. We say

That we’re, like, over thee. The sacrifice—

The sting of truth too sharp to take—she’s gone.

Is it fair? Brooklyn’s gain must be our pain?

It blows. Szorady won’t stop crying. Chris

Pretends that she’s moved on.

While Jason claims you drove a man insane,

Young proofreaders wish they’d stolen just one . . .This

Attempt to bring you back is just the point

That memory’s brought us to. The painful speed

At which you ate, when at the lobster joint,

Concavity, yoga, and auto-fear; they lead

This pen to page, enraged that fate could rip

Our precious E-Ring from her proofs. Since your good bye

The Luscious Verde soul’s grown meek. It craves

You like a bacon strip.

You’re right. The length that makes our tears run dry—

The distance that stretches from us to Erin Graves.

-- Keatz, 2007