Sirens

Dust the streets with ample snow
Bleach white the skeletons of naked trees
A smothering sheet of shame
Spread over cars that wouldn't start the day before
You wake in your messy bed
In that sprawling house on Franklin
And make her stir with light kisses
Before you pray to the Caffeinated Saint of the New Day
Then traipse down to the corner store
Where the owner will greet you with a familiar smile
All crows feet and peppered beard
His hands slightly tremble as he hands over a box of cigarettes
One of the habits you've kept hidden for the past couple years

The telephone must have brought bad news
For you found her a sorry sobbing wreck
Collapsed on the living room floor
She looks up at you with tear-stained eyes
And questions the line between what could have been
And what already has been done

The morning she left for her mother's house in Ohio
You stumbled and fell over feeble protests
Tried to stop her from the middle of the street
Left standing cold and alone in your bathrobe
And The Simpsons slippers she bought you last Christmas
Even though the guys will understand "the seven year itch"
She will never understand the photographs she found
And knowing the loss that you still suffer from everyday
Was caused by your own creeping hand

Is the worse knowledge of all