905

we met at a cafe

I told her

“I’ll let you clean me up
if you promise not to call me
in the morning or text me
those fucking smiley faces”

she does it anyway

I block her number

time slips

watch the rain
stick my head underneath
the runoff from the roof

the same thing in Kentucky

my brother’s mother tells me
psych wards aren’t so bad
and I tell her I don’t need
a vacation or a roommate
that has tried to kill
himself or hates the world

I got a good life
with a lint roller
and a bottle
and a woman in my dreams
that kicks my teeth in

I don’t have a drop of pity
in me

I don’t have a sense of being
wronged

I don’t feel thrown out

don’t mistake me

remember arguing in a hotel room?
why didn’t you tell me
I was afraid?

I’ll be on old man in an old car
with a dying dog
and a leaking roof

before I’ll get tired
of being difficult
–
that’s an ode to my father

I tell this to the egghead
of a doctor I have
and we get into an argument
and I storm out

now, another poem