A Gentle Farewell

If you should go, to take away my peace,
and turn the wrinkled page, I would not grieve
as medieval ladies seek release
in rage or madness when their lovers leave.

Or death. Leaping from a parapet
is high romance, but harmful to the bones,
but that's what medieval maidens get
for messing with their wayward pheromones.

When you are gone, I'll make a cup of tea
laced with just a thimbleful of schnapps,
rejoice a moment in my liberty,
and call or text a former friend, perhaps.

You think you hold my key to happiness,
but what I have is post-traumatic stress.

by Conrad Geller

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Conrad Geller has been a poet since Harry Truman was president, since which nothing has changed much. A native of Boston, he now lives in northern Virginia and publishes widely in electronic and print media.