Plea Poem by Benjamin Chew

I don’t know what
you’re saying, it
sounds strange to me
that you might be
leaving.


Unless the air
is stale and I can’t find
my way in this place
so dark,
I will doggedly sit at the
table of ideas
and plea with


you.


Yes – only you
the callous son of a gun
that pushed the trigger
and
blast the
smithereens out of
me.


Damn.