I am the Problem: a Collection About Being the Worst

I weave the lace between my fingers and pull back the curtains

just enough.

A slight slit of my eye peeks through the ghostly sheen,

but I can see all of you illuminated by the dull street light.

You pause for a moment, hand on the roof of your rundown car,

and you look up towards the house.

You think,

Will she run out the door—after me?

Will she let the door stay latched—let me drive away?

Will she—? Will she—?

Will she?

Will I?

Will I do anything?

No.

no.

I draw the curtain closed and laugh to my sadistic self,

“I can’t believe that he looked back.”

_______

I had a boyfriend

who drank room temperature Miller Lites.

A case of them sat on his kitchen counter

and the empties would rattle around in the trashcan.

And another

who drank a Tito’s and tonic with two limes—

it had to be two.

He would poke the lime wedges with his straw until they were thoroughly killed.

I had one

who didn’t drink at all until he met me.

He showed me a love for horror movies

and I showed him a love for cheap grocery store wine.

Another

who consumed fine whiskeys.

He would always say that he was done for the evening

then ask for the list of bourbons when the music played just right.

I learned how to hold my cheap beer

and keep still while sipping on vodka.

Water on days when I don’t feel like drinking

and bourbon on nights when I feel like tasting and feeling everything.

_______

There’s humor in saving face.

I’m just going ignore the “kick me” sign on your back,

and the “idiot” written on your forehead.

I’ll stay quiet, big man, when you touch a plant,

thinking that it’s skunkbush sumac,

when really it’s poison oak.

_______

When we were together,

I thrived at night when the sky was navy—almost black—

and you left for work with your lunch sack.

Years on,

I have found bliss in the morning sun

and delight in the lazy afternoons once more.

The bell’s chime to remind me of my old friend, Night,

and to be thankful that I left you.

_______

but Hero,

if you go off to foreign lands to fight the good fight for someone else

then come home and won’t fight the good fight for yourself,

who is the real enemy here?