Immaterial

What if they don’t care, they don’t
Want to revisit the end
Or anything before it?

They’re done with ports and stations,
All the waving and guessing,
The promises to be safe,

To have fun, to write often,
To come home. They’re done. They’re off
And not only forgetful,

They’re uncaring and shedding
As they’re accelerating.
What’s haunting you isn’t them.

It’s you stuck with everything
They ditch to get out faster.
Don’t expect a call from them.