We spiral in tiny circles
Down a drain
By my feet
As middle-aged bones
Creak against
The egg-shell porcelain
Of our tiny bathtub
It’s Wednesday
And we’ve already sunk
So low
It doesn’t matter
Whose blood is on my
Midnight blue dress
Or who gave you
The black eye
You’ve worn a tie
For so long
I’m convinced you’re afraid
To be seen without it
Because then
Everyone would know
Who you really are
You fondle the batteries
From the smoke detector
That you removed
So you could enjoy
Another cigarette
And disappoint your mother
For the second time
This week
I open my mouth
And drink the water
From the rusty shower head
Like a thirsty dog
Swallows air
With its head
Stuck through
the window of a moving car
Your eyes fall
Behind embers
Unmistakable
Fatigue and sadness
Directed at me
And you
And how we’ve spent
The last few years
For the first time
Since I learned your name
You look handsome
And in this soaking wet
Sapphire cloth
Stained red
On a worknight
It finally feels
Like my birthday