my friend, the whore
I have your false finger nail in my
eye glasses case on top of the printer
it’s gold and it glitters in the day light
The last time you called me,
before you went to jail a few years back,
you had been playing chicken with a train
“Father Luke,” you said into the phone. “I was hit by a train.”
I never trusted you.
Not because you were a whore.
That was the most honest thing about you.
I never trusted you because you were a liar.
You told my woman that you had known me for twenty
years and that we were an item.
That was funny.
Especially funny because my woman would
use that as an excuse to leave me.
One of the excuses.
Your fingernail is in my glasses case.
But then, I guess, I’ve had a few claw marks
on the things I’ve let go of also, Gail.
Wherever you are,
thanks for having loved me.
