Your Reply Email
Your reply email was dead
pan, not even a hangman’s rope,
hardly even a string.
It came about ten minutes
after mine to you.
So lacking in taste
that I couldn’t feel you flinch
in distaste, push it away,
wish you’d never seen it.
I want nourishment
not candy.
I live pugilism
not pussy footing
around not saying
what you really think,
and nodding politely
as you push your thumbs
into my eyeballs
and smile.
You’ll never see this poem,
or any poem of mine
again, never be confronted
with the truth again
by me, but that’s ok
with me, because I
wrote this poem,
for me, in the end,
and your feelings
don’t matter
to me.
