after a very small and inconsequential misunderstanding
she gives me a chance to redeem myself, to utter some untruth,
to assuage her skinned-knee pride.
I roll over, say
forget it, just go.
I’ve had it with you.
your behavior is barbaric
and you ought to live in a cave
that’s what she tells me
swallowing the last of the wine,
clomping around in her shoes.
on her way out she slams the door.
if only I could fake how I don’t feel
she’d still be here,
boring me to tears.
deuce coupe 