I can’t get the

bitter taste
of you out of my

mind,

you’re a nasty muse.

I gave you my lining

I gave you my inseam

I wore my favorite

jeans.

undone

I sit like a cat

waiting

for the next twig to

snap
to hear if there’s

an echo or
something,

anything to bounce

off of.
but there is

no murmur
to fill my void.

you lean back in your
easy chair

while the rest of the city

rots

and sinks into potholes
on bumpy roads to
nowheresville

you
scratch your balls
and worry

that you’re out of cream

and Sweet & Low

for tomorrow morning’s

cup o’

joe

L. K. Thayer

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