I Don't Want You Back*

I don’t think much about you, babe.
I have better uses for my time.
When it comes to time spent on you
I'm just not so inclined.

I never talk about you, babe.
I hardly remember your first name.
I never review the things you said
And I don’t sort out who’s to blame.

I don’t visit places we used to go.
I don’t keep your picture on my wall.
I’m far past grieving your departure
And I’m not looking for some place to fall.

But what I do is work to forget
Why I ever gave you a diamond ring.
Though, you may as well have that, too
'Cuz you left with everything.

I still have that scar on my left leg
Caused by the iron you burned me with.
All that talk of “love” you spewed
Was plain and simple myth.

I appreciated that new toaster, babe
But they say you’re a psychopath
Because you threw it at me, still plugged in
While I tried to take a bath.

I still am shy of crossing streets
Since that morning you ran me down.
And I’m working on my smile, babe
Since you tattooed me with this frown.

Some nights I wake up screaming
Ever since you pegged me with a knife.
Your lawyers said you were acting out a nightmare
But the cops said you tried to take my life.

So, no, I don’t want you back, babe
And I do not wish you well.
Maybe you'll think it over, babe
While you rot there in your cell.


* Nobody's in custody, or sitting in a cell. But somebody, somewhere, may or may not read this and see glimmers of bits and pieces, shreds and slices of nearly correct occurrences that may, or may not resemble things that may have, or may not have actually happened. But that was, or was not a long time ago, and I may, or may not have entirely healed. There. That may, or may not satisfy my legal experts. Some of my best poems may, or may not be loosely based on that which may, or may not be fact. "Loosely"...but not entirely.