The past is unzipped, like the backseat lover
loosening your tie. You were crazy about him
in June, sleeping past noon in the grass,
singing all night out of tune. By September
he’d split, without so much as a goodbye kiss.
It’s tough to be the one who’s ditched,
the scrub who gets bumped from the nest.
Now you’re adrift in the city, its brick piles
blotting out sky; you’re not fit for this life,
the sulky drama of the street. You want to kill
the taste on your tongue; green fairy, bitter pill,
whatever gets you by. Clouds mass
as the curtain rises on the last act,
you know already how it ends.
