Limbs rose
on a blackened afternoon,
the night I
sunk low,
low because
you left,
lower
because I could have
stopped you
from leaving.
now my
crumpled letter
is just a
parcel of trash,
ferried to
the dumps
where it
waits for me.
I go home
where
it’s quiet
enough to
think-
think, that’s
all
there’s to
do
and where my
folks
close the
door
so I won’t
bother them
with the
latest girl
or when I
lovingly pet my only friend,
in front of
their doorway
on a Stokes
Forest Green carpet.
My cat,
my cat would
detect
when I was
maligned
and come to
me,
but now she
does not purr
when I
scratch her,
only stares,
my fingers a
mother’s tongue
on a kitten
grown old,
one that no
longer trusts me
because I am
not worthy,
so let me
die
in this
staunch mold-ridden
tomb,
the end to a
parasite, this
without self-reliance;
nullify the
weak
before they
multiply.
