Carrie Jewell
After This
After this I promise I’ll leave you alone.
Wouldn’t a trip be nice right now? Or even a cruise?
I’m sorry but that vacation will have to be postponed.
Cross the road when you see a dog, a bike, a crone.
At least the sky and crocuses are blue.
After this I promise I’ll leave you alone.
How long do we stay alive in our phones?
If you hear something over and over, it’s true.
Look (don’t touch): how your grandchildren have grown.
Maybe we’ll start flying in your groceries by drone.
Do you have a slow cooker, a microwave, a corkscrew?
After this I promise I’ll leave you alone.
Try to write down all the things you’ve ever known.
Do you like lilies, lilacs, peonies, or feverfew?
We need to know what you want on your headstone.
Maintain a minimum of six feet between grass and bone.
Have you tried painting a picture of the view?
This is the only sacrifice you’ve never quite condoned.
After this I promise I’ll leave you alone.
—Submitted on 07/09/2020
Carie Jewell writes: Having taught English for 18 years and started a family, I haven’t had much time to write. I haven’t published anything since 1993, when I had one poem accepted by the Youth Edition of the Worcester Review. The name of it escapes me now.
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