And so the day will come some day from now
when I’ll come visit your wife’s house.
Long after all our long goodbyes
and my last shameful stand and
deep outpouring all-consuming something
fails to take effect.
And after all the last drops drain,
all music faltered, fled from me;
a bar below par after all.
And after hours paced in work,
the ol’ copy and paste,
click, shift ‘n’ white light bled from me
all that was ever good in me.
So what you see is just a shadow of
the former me:
a plastic knife, a butter pat, two napkins
and four feet under the table.
“Some lovely spread!” Same idle chat.
Her family’s silverware, and after dinner
mince is what I’ll make of her
“Isn’t it funny to think I loved your husband?”
“Wow, how we’ve all changed.”
Well. Some of us stay the same, I guess.