By ZoE
Date: 8 June 2000
Keen
Rips in my sweater, as I board the train
leap on to it, so I might stop it from,
chugging down tracks leaving
everyone I’ve ever loved.
Keen, That’s what I said you were,
the day I said nothing. (those infidelities always make me nauseous)
The day I laughed at you with tears screaming down my face.
This would be the last time the sun light bouncing off the dishwasher
and all the shadows on the walls, the cobwebs
this would be the last time you’d say.
the best things I ever wrote
were the ones I crossed out.
I told you that you were
could be, woman if you didn’t speak like you do,
punctuate every sentence with the appropriate fuck
you are the last step I can take,
first breathe of air I’ve taken in three years as you walk away calmly.
You said I should be ready at five, as if that would be fine with me.
But I broke down,
spit polished my white Sunday shoes,
found the glimmering teeth hiding
behind the folds of skin of every woman.
Back to the Heart-on-Sleeve Corner