With This Ring…

I think I’ve found the reason
you and I
will never make this work.
It might be because
you eat the last umeboshi
without telling me,
and it may be because
I replace the brine
with dog urine.

I think in all our failures
to communicate,
we might’ve forgotten to say
all we liked about one another
was that one night
of frantic fucking,
and now we don’t know how
to exit gracefully.

So here, let me say it–
I have a reason
we two should not be married,
and I will speak now,
rather than forever hold my peace:
your mother sells your panties on eBay,
but I only get five percent
of the profits.

Here is your ring back.
I had my brother shit
in the top glass of the champagne fountain.
I’m only telling you because
I thought I might love you,
and to me, at least,
that stands for something.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.