A self-pitying poem with no subtext

What he leaves behind

Broken rubber bands

An empty cardboard box
with the flaps curling in

A freezer packed
with summer jam

Scatterings from the razor
on the bathroom tile
black and stray as ants

Me

It’s always easier to be the one who goes

(For my European friends: Here’s the Rainstick Cowbell tour schedule. Go give him a hug for me.)

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5 thoughts on “A self-pitying poem with no subtext

    • I assume your handy iPhone activated autocorrect turned “pity party” into “potty party.” Although I suppose if I was drinking a lot while snarfing cookie dough it could end up going that badly πŸ˜‰

    • I think maybe I’m a little envious too! I guess I should work on getting my books translated to German, Italian, French, and Dutch, then I’d have an excuse to go on tour.

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