Part Time

 

I really don’t remember

having reached my final thinking

past the void I only see

when I am drinking,

 

I’ve left no path or walkway

so my steps I won't retrace

when the only thought remembered

is your face,

 

A worn and broken headstone

completely void of rhyme,

tells the world that I was here

at least – part time,

 

Accounts are all in order

no final payment due

I’ll be an apparition

when I am through,

 

A spirit just in passing

an afterthought perhaps,

a soldier never smart enough

to know when he’s heard taps.