Bullet proof sandwich board love note
Long ago and far away
I discovered chiseled hieroglyphics
on cave walls by torchlight
that foretold the story of how we would meet
Then I drew our future with chalk
on your sidewalk so vividly that it was
erased by your father’s hose before April showers
could wash it past my house as a reminder
When you left for a while with no forwarding address
I made myself sympathy cards with
a watercolor set and number 2 pencil
on the backs of stapled-together losing lottery tickets
News of your impending return was scrawled
on backdated bank checks with invisible ink
that I read by midnight refrigerator light
surrounded by dead and dying St. Louis soldiers
Sitting in a backward tattered parlor chair
the date of your ultimate ‘I do’ was scratched
unceremoniously into my arm
above the fading tribute to my mother
by a burly bearded black gloved man
On our first anniversary I marched
in front of the house wearing nothing but a
sandwich board sign silver spray painted
with reasons why your love made me feel bulletproof
And before my final day with shaking hand but steady heart
I wrote you a final love letter with
a yellow highlighter because I needed you
to pay attention to every last word
Once home you retraced each sentence
with permanent ink and placed the note in your night table drawer
with all the others I’d written becoming
the final chapter in our written story
—
copyright 2013 Steven Harz
—
Steven Harz Music 
Leave a Reply