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when he got home
he threw up in the kitchen sink
scuffed the tile
as he slid down the cabinets

I found him with his sweater
as his pillow
sometime in the early hours

I didn’t shake him but
stepped over him
and made coffee for the man
waking up in my bed
he shouldn’t have stayed
and he can’t see anything
like the way it really is
not in the apartment and not
in me or him

a good mistake feels
like a smooth stone
resting on your back

a bad one feels
like a ball of ants
burning alive in your cheek

I decided to wake the man
on my kitchen floor
I had him drink the coffee
I made for the rising mistake
in my bed
told the latter we were all out
of coffee and I was out of
appreciation and morning talk