Toast

You can’t find the lighter you say,

You need a lighter for your cigarette. 

So you grab the toaster, take it into the bathroom,

And I sit in the rocking chair and watch TV, a story

About the mundane horrors of polygamy.

Somewhere in my head, I know what’s happening,

That you took your shirt off, that you needed a

Fucking toaster in the bathroom

And a spoon

And a needle. 

Forty-five minutes, still an amateur. 

You come out and I grab your arm,

Keep my face in check, keep my jaw from dropping

At the giant, mean welt on your arm,

Ridged dents where you tied a belt to make your vein pop.

Your eyes rolling, your skin wan and sad.

I can’t look at you. 

And I never want to again. 

Be that broken winged bird that can walk away