Woman Scorned

I saw you today at the coffee shop we used to go
You lifted her hair out of her face and kissed her neck
You both chuckled at some private joke
The waitress’s eye lingered, misty with admiration
And the part of me that remembers you,
That remembers us
Screamed in agony.
You see, I’m supposed to be over it.
I mean, enough time has passed.
Water under the bridge
And if they are right, or if I am doing it right,
You shouldn’t be a blimp on my radar
Good riddance to bad rubbish.
But how could I have opened my heart up to rubbish?
Who makes a dumpster of their hearts?
A trash can of their lives?
Because, if you are rubbish then I willingly did,
And thus would be as much to blame as you.
I dared,
I dared to love rubbish.
I dared to look for the diamond in the dirt.
To stick my hand in the steaming chicken innards, hoping to find the gizzard
But you?
You were a coward
Terrified at the mere sight of blood
Unable to clean up after your own self.
Clueless of your own detritus.
I watch you lean back in your chair,
Eyes roaming across a face that could have been mine.
Ah, there it is.
The same uncertainty in your eyes,
The same crease on your brow that tells me.
That the yawning pit that is your expectations and confusions,
Will swallow her too.
I smile bitterly as I remember,
That in the same pit, I had seen manure
Fertile, fodder for growth.
Life giving.
I should wish you well,
At one time I did.
But now?
I hope the memory of me becomes an ocean you always drown in
I hope every moment with her and the “hers” to come
Is darkened by the shadow of what you have lost
I hope you lie in her arms and your manhood withers
At the thought that those arms are not mine
Like undernourished plants, deprived of water, of compost
Or a gardener who would have worked to see them flourish.
I hope you never escape the smell of your mistake.
I hope it haunts you.
As it haunts me.

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