[I don’t remember exactly when I wrote this, a couple years ago at least. I enjoy how low art it is.]
In my defense
the marks on your wrists could have been from the cat –
Though I see your point
We had her declawed.
I’m not quite ready to pack up your things
I still use your dictionary; your pillows are nicer than mine –
What do I do with your make-up? Give it to Goodwill?
I haven’t resold your CDs
mainly because I’d be embarrassed if the clerk thought they were mine.
I’m getting to the place where I have no conscience about any of this –
I don’t even care if Mittens runs away
which, by the way, is a stupid name for a cat that’s all gray –
You were always so good at missing the point.
Of course, now I’m doing the same thing.
In a way, I guess that’s sort of sweet –
Or, you know, whatever.