The Sunday Poem: The Genius Goes Away

The crowd was a forest of press cards tucked in hatbands.
When interviewed all he said was,
“I’m no longer needed here.”

He ducked away escorted by the last faithful
while the rumors flew fast and far—

it was over a woman
there are funds missing
the Mob is in on it too—
The cars with bulging fenders
and the microphones with halos pursued him.

He’s going away.
It was whispered of in bars on nights
when the fog was thick as jelly.
One nosy reporter was found murdered the next day.

At the airport, propellers twirling as he boarded,
he thanked the assembled,
and broke down and cried.
“I don’t know why I am being forced out,” he declared.
“It’s all vicious rumors, but I will be back!”

As if he were some sort of comic book hero.

The photo that most remembered was that of the child
peeping through the airport glass, captioned,

“Please come back.”

But he won’t, I know.
He’s going away.
I started the rumor myself.