mid signature, the ink
disappears, tearing
through the dotted line
surely the lawyers can
piece together
what I meant, in print
it’s legible, shaken
but my legal name
and hers, I scream
it into the axe
and dried oak
over and over
it’s not like winter
to wake up and walk
away, the meterologists
count down hours
until the blizzard
it will be a white out
on the skids
when I pull over, let her out
drive off, rehashing
every time I measured twice
cut once, and fell short
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Friday Writings #203: Things you hate
A brilliant, albeit sad, evocation of uncoupling. I am enormously impressed by the way you convey so much so intensely, whilst omitting back story and most present (factual) details.
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