After

Come after me when I call you my friend.
Come after me when I offer you tea.
Come after me when the sun sets low and far;
Do come after me in my shy timidity.

Think of me when happy and bright,
And all the more when you’re down.
Think of me like the singer on the road
Walking steady, soon to leave the town.

fear

You left, oh, too soon, I think,
And so I keep thinking of you.
Do you see me the way I want you to?
Ask this questions someday, to me too.

There’s no answer, though, just afterthoughts:
Two chairs on each half of my dull brain,
Sitting empty, overworked, and now filled with
Reflection, demands, plans, and migraine.

~Prat.