No More Cigarettes

A toenail clipping on the
bathroom floor.
Crumpled receipt from
Dominick’s. Faint teeth marks on my
ear. The evidence.
Forgotten or left behind.
Given as a memento,
his leaving a mess where he sat.
I don’’t mind.
Just a reminder I’’ll put away quickly.
Kick the door back on its hinges.
Let the trashman take the trash away.
Make room for more.
Only a smile if I see you again.
People forget the human mistake.
Quit their jobs because of it, or quit without saying anything. Don’’t
remember my birthday. I’’m asking you not to.
Something like that would be
too much.
Under the bed, I found that sock. (I laughed remembering your barefoot in your boot.)
Valentine’’s Day came and went.
We both got cards from our parents,
“XOXO.”
You forgot my birthday already. You’’re in a different time
zone. That was enough of a goodbye.

No More Cigarettes

pages

Chicago, United States

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 1

Artist's Description

03/19/2008 – Abecedarian (a poem in which the first letter of each line corresponds with the alphabet)

Artwork Comments

  • PJ Ryan
,
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