Final Draft

A poem about the wrong way to read a relationship

Photo by Nik on Unsplash

the dustjacket ripped
when he borrowed
my first edition
I am sorry he says
this was not the way
for endings

I wanted
I did, I wanted
you’re not alone in wanting
I can’t fold the corners
cross out checkmarks
whitify highlights

Gorilla glue, I’ve tried
to tack the broken spine
like lemon and cream
curdles of separation
us
I’m talking about us

you’re fourth behind her
now there’s you
me, I’m in line somewhere —
perhaps last
always last
in acknowledgements

we watch words
bounce off the ceiling
rebound in raindrops
base narrative
background scratches
on the record

don’t hate me, I hope
I hope you don’t
hate me
when it’s done
us
I’m talking about us