One Poem by Gary Miron

Comme il faut

A radio blaring white noise static and I broke another guitar string.
The frayed, nickel-wound steel pricked my finger and now
there's a drop of blood on black paint—Comme il faut.
I can see my reflection in the glossy surface;
there are rings under my eyes and bits of grass in my hair,
clogged pores and peeling lips—Comme il faut.

I've been reading old letters and hitting old chords. The pictures have been taken down,
the toothbrush is long gone and the pink razor that made me laugh;
the walls are empty and my finger still bleeds—Comme il faut.

A caged dog is barking because his partner is gone.
Or is it because he's hungry? Or just bored and bursting at the seams?
Anyway, I can relate—Comme il faut.

Let me out so I can make the music of tapping feet and sing my song for no one but me,
I think this is the way it's supposed to be.
Je ne comprends pas—Comme il faut.

{Poem by Gary Miron}