Single, not lonely


    I guide the first-years


    maybe fifty miles away


    from you, in a pastoral painting


    of peaks and model pines.


    Others brought their spouse,


    hanging off each other


    like tied laces. I prefer sandals.


    But the kicking of my heart


    is cool, calm as naps with novels.


    You were away, just another face


    to recognize, another name to forget.


    But these couples can’t derail


    the trains I send off, eyes closed,


    waiting for the truth to hit


    like tons of metal and steel.


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    My man is away, isn’t even mine,


    but has filled the holes riddled


    through my heart


    as though the crumbling ruins


    I hide inside were always royal,


    a Scottish castle


    pictured in those childhood fancies


    that always end the same—


    happily ever after.


    Worn down, not desperate


    One last kick in the jaw,


    bloodied and squinting,


    spitting out a tooth


    and my lion pride.


    The task prowls, smells blood,


    smiles like a sliver moon.


    The task circles like vultures,


    cawing in triumph in a tune


    that smells of failure—naked,


    sweat-streaked, wide-eyed failure.


    Sink or swim—and I can’t stomach


    another cup of salt, can’t cry


    another glass. Run aground,


    the ship eating the shore like a funeral,


    train wreck. You won’t see this,


    I might not see you again,


    I might not leave the hole,


    might not…