A poem: The Day After

The day after
another breakup
is the loneliest day.
Passing the phone
wanting to make that call.
What, and say I’m sorry?
No, I can’t do that!
The IM fuck you
was the last of the
crazy things he was
going to say to me.
I’d listen on the
failings of his father,
dead some years now,
and the girlfriend
who tortures him so
but fears her wrath
If he left her.
So here I am
standing in a pile
of his shit
and now I’m
covered in it too.
I wanted him to
know what to do
stand up, be a man
tell me that you love me
and let the others
go to hell.
No chance of that.