Divorce Song #378

                                              Recalling all the onion
                                             tears and alligator tears
                            falling off your eyeballs --
                     evacuating a hazard zone     before the quarantine.
                                          They were all one half a seventeenth.

                      Someone watching you fall apart
                                       might have called it all a farce.
                                       But he was really
                                                           all you knew.

                                               It's not all for you to decide --
             not the mold growing in the walls,
                                              not the tall, bug-eyed man at the bus stop
                                                   who called you a whore,
                                                      not all you were for your lover -- clown nose, horsey tail
                                                      and all that lipstick on your chest.

                               When you were finally done chopping onions
                                           you burned all the nachos,
                                              but that's all you knew how to cook.
                               He said they tasted all right but
                              to stomache it and call you sweetie, he only made it worse.
                                                  Practically a bitch-slap.
                                                           Fall down in a heap. One of these days, to the moon.
                                      
                                            You were pallid when he ruined
                                                              all your favourite shirts in the wash.
                                           Punch the wall. It's still unfixable.
                                             So you did all the dishes and cleaned the bathroom
                                                              all the time while he sat on his ass watching roadrunner cartoons.

                                               The fight       never ended. And after,
                                                love was       ebola or the common cold.
                                                        But       that one night,
                                                                    those sweet words,
                                                                    those fingers on your thighs --
                                                               all belong to you
                                                                alone.