cold/holes in your hosiery

These natty tights

have been sporting holes

for many weeks of wear,

but finally today

they’ve reached their limit

along with the letter

signed Love Always

& the glossy photobooth shot,

one on the lap of the other,

lust-blind, vacation-tanned.

It’s too cold for reflecting

on beaches, lust or letters,

so pad to the kitchen

in homeworn slippers,

& toss that shit in the trash.

Susan prompted the Real Toads to write on a theme of hello or goodbye. Hello, this is poem number 24 of 30 for National Poetry Month! And today's the third birthday of the runaway sentence, hip hip hooray!