Orpheus is at my window. Again. With his lute.
“GO AWAY!” I scream.
“The last time you did this
I got a DMCA strike from Twitch.”
He vows, gallantly, as he has done before
That he will return.
I watch him cross the street: maybe he feels my gaze on his back
He turns, as though dragged by a magnet.
And is swiftly crushed by an oncoming Prius.
I try and use the lute he leaves behind to write a dirge
A tribute: but can only play an F to pay respects
And the best I’ve got lyrically is “Orpheus is no-Morpheus”.
I mean that he’s ceased to exist, but when I write it down
I think of the Matrix. He could have stopped that car with one hand.
That would have been cool. Song-writing isn’t as easy as it looks.
I think I was a bit hard on him.
Camille Lewis is a writer and avid reader who lives and learns with borderline personality disorder. She can be found indulging in Plath or crossing off days on a calendar until the next installment of the “A Song of Ice and Fire” series is released. Camille reads for The Winnow and Bandit Fiction.
Angel Rust 