Long goodbyes have a Twinkie shelf life.
Don’t give me that look next time.
I forget the evening paper on the front step.
It is wet with dew by morning.
The holes in my socks aren’t as funny to me.
My bare feet ache from the cold, marble tiles.
The fridge stays closed without you facing it.
What shade was hiding in there?
The rain comforts me somehow.
You would count the drops.
When you return, time will seem shorter.
Until then, purgatory.
You took the scarf I was wearing.
What token did you leave behind?
You should be eating breakfast now,
Reading your bone-dry newspaper.
Sleep just called and said he couldn’t make it.
The scotch you left tastes awful.