He would climb my walls with great ambition

Only to fall belly first into the deep

Black pit of my expectations



And some comfort I might offer him

From the shallow pockets of my love if only

I did not hate so quickly his name which embraces my tissues.



What I do recall though so painfully is that his last name never came with him.



Call me a fool to only remember his face,

But I possessed just that:

The memory of a fool



Used like a broken black road

Traveled by

So many men with no last names back to the women that keep them.

Kyle Hamp

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-memory-of-a-fool/