Close counts only in horseshoes and hand grenades
and I don’t wish that we were now just that we weren’t ever
because its been a year and I’m still angry enough that
when I passed you the other day in target my heart beat faster and
my knees got wobbly and I realized again how much my life changed when you walked away.
It was like you, the sun and I, a blind man seeing light for the first time
one, two, three
in the warmth and then darkness so deep the only sight my eyes could knowledge was your hand in hers and mine, empty
see, its been a year
a rotation around that sun and
I haven’t felt warmth like that day dancing
its been a year and I see you and she are friends and
we went to coffee once like strangers
the car was stiff the space between us comfortably fitting the elephant that is your infidelity
and we shift glances back and forth because it is still 21 miles until you’re back home and
21 miles until I realize I don’t want to get to know you because what I thought I knew was a lie
a story with everyone else narrating, in on the joke.
Because that what I was to you, a punchline that had worn off its novelty far too long ago.