by Rob Holland

(Plain Press April 2026)

For want of love

Here you are.

Lain beautifully,

If you’d lain

On a plush rug

In a cozy den

By the hearth

Under the gaze

Of a loving family.

Who was it

Who discarded you here

On the berm

In the cinders,

Ice and mud?

Never-ending thousands

Rushing east and west

Above you don’t know

That you are here.

I hope the city

Collects your moldering

Coil before spring.

It crossed my mind

To buy a bouquet.

On Train Avenue,

-Among the squalid

Trash, mattresses,

Tires and dead dogs –

Here the bouquet has

Long been arranged.

I work here

And drive by you

Again and again.

I shake my head and

Make a ‘tsk’ sound

Each time, like

My mom used to make

When she would

Helplessly ingest

Some sad news.

You have shed a

Brutish and short life.

And yet you call

“Someday!”

I’ll be with you

Someday, with you

By our cozy hearth.