WHIMSICAL POETRY

Afterthought
11/96

Tick, tick, tick
I watch the minutes pass
the lonely hours
The hurt compounds each minute
My eyes ache.
They cried all night
all day.

You don't love me
they discovered.
You have no time
for me.

Every minute comes
with an excuse
Your list of priorities
is 23 items long.
But I am number 24

I am not even your last thought.
I am not even an afterthought.
I'm an after-after-after thought
If that.