The Electoral Disease...

Me:
It's kind of like a bad rash...

Him:
like the Quebec Nationalists

Me:
no, thats like herpes. You think it's gone then IT COMES BACK

Morning

I wake.

It's a quarter before the alarm
breaks fitful sleep.

I stretch-
then remember that
I'm not alone here.

Quietly
softly
I wriggle from tether
and creep to the bathroom...

this floor creaks.

I laid it all out there
the blubber
the penchant for
unmatched socks-
the scars
the lined up vials on the counter...

the space mask
the unwashed dishes
the magazines under the chair...

the book was found and unmentioned even.

I stood with arms crossed-defiant
door slightly ajar-waiting

and yet...

I declined to talk about it-
tired of talk-
of introspection-

so instead we laughed
and ate the ice cream I made
and listened to that awful crackle
his shoulder makes when he turns it just so--

and the light turned to dark
and the dark turned to light
and I remembered all the things I thought I forgot...

and the note was scribbled on a scrap of paper
and I went out into the morning without a thought
of....