Boomerang

No longer will I peer past the brick

and into the windows of that shabby-chic

Italian restaurant, where, on nights like this

when the dust is just starting to swirl

yellows into pinks, I could catch you

dining with your EX boyfriend, and

you’d both look up and wave gaily

 

no longer will i jump snowbanks

to join you for tea or some fangled new

soup recipe you concocted on a snowday

or bravely try to find you parking

on the igloo days where safe spaces

mean totally different things

 

and I’m sorry I tried to replace you

prematurely. I will never hug another man

or tell him i love him, outside of

a purely professional basis

besides my father, my brother

and whatever current boyfriend

 

no longer will i look onto a freckled

EXED-out face in the distance and swear

never to make a friend again

before reaching out to make

another enemy in your name

 

no longer will you hold me

while i fall asleep, angrily

or hurl my frisbees back

stamped with “of courses”

and “I understands” and “My god,

I would kill him myself

if he ever did that agains”

 

Now it’s just me

and my boomerang

 

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