Smelling Salts Poem by Edmund V. Strolis

The train has left the station, you stand flat footed in coal dust.
The ship has left the harbor and you're soaked in its frothy wake.
On the train she reads a magazine, stretches, reapplies her make up.
On the ship she teases the Cabana boy sipping Tequila in the sun.

Poor fool waving from the platform a ghostly wimpy apparition.
Poor sod you cry buckets of loss and zombie-shuffle aimlessly.
Poor lad you seek out wiser friends, and sob but never listen.
Poor fellow why can't you see? She loved every guy, yes even me.