Done With

A poem about dysfunctional relationships inspired by the song at the end…

Done With

Done with him. Just hope
he’s at one with all the stuff
he grieves for. All the guff
he cries belief for,

when it’s only a quest for
relief for every sin he
ever committed, every
kindness he omitted.

For every loss he swears
not confession,
but blame. No shame,
‘cause he drank it all away.

Thinks he can manage it.
Thinks he can block it out:
heavy beats in the car,
JD and driving fast.

He knows what he did.
He knows who and what he
hid from. He knows the anger,
the guilt he placed. Lit matches
and split lips. Faces he
spat in.

Done with him. Done and
dead and too much to ever
go back to that crap. Ties
slice-bound, now broken, severed.
(He said I thought I was too clever.)
He is worth more, but
‘til he believes that,
there will be no angels
to weep. No one to
sing him to sleep.

Redemption is only
temptation’s sorry leftover:
not for me to say.
Or anyone.

Some will pray.
Some will mean it.