My most haunted dream is reserved for who I’ll become if you don’t come back (a poem)

Not much opportunity for writing yesterday, but I did manage this towards the end of the day.

A satchel, handle broken
Clothes spilled all over the sidewalk
I drop all pretense to pick them up

I’m the absent-minded man you hear about
who says awkward things
and has peculiar little habits

I’m mechanically inept
and vaguely helpless
though you can’t say I don’t try

to interrupt the cycle
break the chain that binds me to it
dragging me through the phases

I seem doomed to repeat
as long as I walk alone

and alone
my most haunted dream
becomes my life

The cycle begins anew…

(11 September 2015—posted September 12)