Maybe compassion isn’t
what you need.
Maybe a hard slap
would be more help.
I love you!
I’m supposed to be your girlfriend!
I sat at that table
waiting
for an hour!
You didn’t even text!
But I lost my phone. It was in that jacket I left
at Anthony’s.
So what? You could have called me
from a payphone. If you’d remembered
we had a date.
But I didn’t have your number. It was in my phone.
I asked you
when this happened before
to write my number
on a piece of paper
along with that of your mother
and your brother
and your best friend
and your therapist
and put it
in your wallet.
But you don’t give a damn,
do you?
If you cared
you wouldn’t
let it happen.
I do care!
More than anyone
knows. But…
when I get home
and Pete comes out of his room
and says,
d’you want a beer?…
It’s like a hissing
in my head, a pulling
in my guts,
especially at that
time of day… the dusk,
the orange light…
You’re afraid.
Yes.
What is it?
What are you scared of?
Of…
falling asleep with nothing
but my own blood
in my veins
Of waking up alone
with the lucid sun
in my eyes
And of waking up
next to you
and that terrifying
love
of yours.