The Last Time

The Last Time



I saw you was yesterday. The calendar

does not lie. It keeps our appointments

below the date, blocks of time waiting

to be filled. I see them wall my days,

the scheduled visits in pencil,

the doctor’s office in pen.

Your name is permanent

marker, written in ink so dark

a month cannot bury you

even when it’s passed.



Geoff Anderson crosses the tracks, the bridge, the overpass in Columbus, OH. His work appears or is forthcoming in Outlook Springs, Lunch Ticket, and UpTheStaircaseQuarterly, among others.


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