angry

stop.
there’s no point.
quit driving past
quit staring so hard
it burns a hole in my ribs.

you and me
were never real,
because you built that
castle
on sand untruths.

i thought you were a man
but mine
was an honest
mistake.

so stop.
quit showing up at my
door
with another hard-luck
story.

i believed you
the first fifty times
now i just listen
to you whine
on the other side
of my new locks.

i keep the phone handy
and the bottle handier.

go away.
at least the liquor
is honest
about meaning me
no good.

you came over
when you wanted.

you got
what you came for.

you left
when you wanted to.

and you tell me
you felt trapped?

please.

the only thing trapping
you
was that i wasn’t going to
pay for your pleasures,
finance
your life.

i’ve got my
own life
to pay for, a hell
of an installment
plan, between
god and me.

so go away
and figure out
how to pay down
the principal on
your own
damn mistakes.

when a man gets angry
because a woman
won’t give him
money
he says
“trapped.”

fuck that.

i’ll pay my own way
and you can
mourn
the chance you had
to buy some
quality.

you’re thinking
about me.

stop it.

stop driving by
my building.
i don’t look
and i don’t notice.

stop asking
my friends.
they don’t know
they can’t tell you.

stop thinking
buzzing
like that
tiny bone
in my ear.

i can’t feel it
i don’t like it
i won’t listen
i haven’t forgotten
and no

i will not

come to the door.

dear virgin,
let’s talk.

you’re a bulb and
a plastic shield. how
do you smile even
when you’re unplugged?

i want to go
to church.
but
god, that bastard
will hit me
if i cross
the threshold.

besides
they don’t open churches
at one a.m. here
in the cold.

so i stay at home
light another smoke
take another swallow
the whiskey burns
its way down.

and i talk to you.

they say you hear
all the cries
of the world.

they say you are
mercy itself.

so tell me
why can’t you be
the one in charge?
the last thing
we need
between stars exploding
with nuclear force
and everything eating
everything else
down here
is more violence.

was there
a corporate takeover?
do you look at the
direction he’s taken
the company in
and cringe
while you listen to our
screaming?

senora, my lady, virgin, please
please

find some balls
and fix some things
down here.

i’ll stay here
all night
with the bottle
and the ashtray
and the haze
in the air
if it will make you
do it.

i couldn’t
love you hard enough
to help you
love yourself.

you were determined
to turn into them,
those people
you said you hated.

i tried my best. i
loved you like a hurricane
i loved you
like a rock. i took
each hurdle the way
a horse jumps,
committed fully.

but now
i balk.

you have
lied
cheated
stolen the things i would have given gladly.
you have thrown away
the best fucking
thing
that ever happened
to you.

yeah.
hope that was
what you wanted.
i hope
you got
what you needed.

if you wanted
to break every
shred of love
i felt for you

congratulations.
you’re a success.

don’t.

don’t touch me.

i’m not going to break
i’m not afraid for me.

it’s the sharp edges
where things were
ripped out of me
that you’re going
to cut yourself on.

you don’t have
any insulation.

don’t come near.

i got a head full
of gas fumes
and you’re a spark.

go away

just go away.

why won’t you go?

if i could put spikes up
in front of my house
i would.

just to make the bastards
slow down.

they roar through here
bass thumping, car
weaving, and boys yelling.
sometimes it’s blondes on cell
phones, yapping away
while piloting tons
of metal.

the city won’t
put speed bumps in
until someone dies
probably one of the kids
playing on their bikes
skateboards
or whatever.

spikes. if i could
i would. as it is
i ill-wish them

and wait for a
crash.

for one whole year I ate it
crunch of bread, salt of butter
one long year between the job
and school, one endless year
while the divorce wended its way,
trouble looming over every waking
moment.

other food would choke me,
the man of the house glaring
like I cost him cash with
every breath. I tried
to fold myself into a hard
little corner, pulling knees and
elbows in, no flesh poking out
to remind him of my presence,
of my cost.

I lived on cooked bread and butter,
I starved, but the hunger turned inward;
I developed layers of cushioning
against it. my hips swelled, so did
my breasts, as if pregnant again
I loomed miserable in the space
I never should have called home.

I starved, and yet I grew, my body
trying to protect me. the divorce
closed itself up too, and I moved out
like a thief in the middle of
a sunny afternoon, hoping not to
leave behind any more than I had to
while chewing myself free.

would it have been so hard
not to slaughter me, fattening
me with cruelty? each
reminder that I was a burden
scored me, though I didn’t
show it, kept my face
a stone, my heart shrinking
as my body metabolized your hate
into another pound.

sometimes the bread
pops up, ping!
in a new toaster and
I stare at it, remembering
a hunger.

those times
when I remember, I
tip the plate over the
garbage can.
I waste
the staff of life
because I choose to,
because eating it
would remind me of you.

If I don’t accept it
who does it belong to?

I set the phone down
turned the email off
scrawled “Return to Sender”
on all the envelopes.

If I won’t fight, who
do you have to yell at?
I will not nail myself
christlike to the cross
just so you
can continue playing
your dominance game.

If I refuse, vanish, fade
disappear
what can you do?
I won’t play anymore
find someone else
to be your whipped dog.

If I’d known it was
this easy, I would have
hung up on you
a long time ago.