That last time that I checked in
Your English wit was tragically irradiated
Your force majeure femme-hooks aflame
What was that waitress' name, again,
the one with the purgatory laugh?
The one with the mandatory crucifix?
Our ugly gravities
Their peanut allergies
Their rogues' galleries
Their collapsed arteries
Their secondhand mother
It is implied that at one point
in our past
(or at least in my past)
we walked on salted wax
Under-eyes, and
Severed sighs,
Genetic lies,
Our first goodbyes
Our three-pound tumor romance
That old song you played
Made it abundantly clear.
I sold the car
And the gossip
And the meringue-day blues
And our uninvited doubles.
That attic
we killed
and hid the body
Someone found it
and all my old books
and creased pages
and private graffiti.
Someone is reading you now
Your palms
Your diaries
Your charmingly racist tarot
If you duck
and also are lucky
I'll put down even odds
You leave this town alive.
© 2011 John Dowda via MyOWs.com. All rights reserved, except where noted otherwise.
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