You Bailed on Me
A poem about life’s enforcements

It could have been an August morning just like this.
Probably colder, with a blanket over the sky, but similar enough.
The Sun was there, the same old Sun
The true witness of our mistakes.
He was quiet behind the clouds as a tired father that,
After lecturing his children about how viscid mud can be,
Simply cleans the floor and throws their tiny boots in the trash.
The disobeying children wait for the quarrel but it never comes,
Just a gloomy silence penetrating the halls.
On a morning just like that, with the Sun exhausted of trying,
You bailed on me.
I could hear the crackling of our crumbling trust.
There was so much pain between us that I thought we were smashing it
With our own hands.
Each shard of glass pervading our palms was a lost chance.
Your bad thumb, with the black nail pointing out,
Could fall off completely by this disruption.
You bailed on me.
The guts you’ve promised to have,
The guts you’ve strangled me with,
They were not enough and so weren’t we.
Time was wrong.
History made a huge mistake.
The Sun remained silent and I don’t know if out of love or cowardice.
The Moon would have said something.
She would have screamed her tides out,
She would have made the flows between us so outraged by this rupture
They’d make us nauseate at the glimpse of this mitosis.
But you chose to leave me during the day.
You chose to write me out beneath the sun,
After two nights of sleeping with eyes open.
After resting in front of the heater,
Blaming the weather for your shaking hands.
When the day finally began and the dew smelled of hope,
You bailed on me.

