I have to wake up with a cockroach in my nose,
you slob, you goblin. I pull the hair out of my nostril
again, & I’m awake, & I can’t sleep because the pain
in my nose. Just once you should try to live
like me—not the whole box of chocolate, the fast
fueled by nicotine. You are a stoplight stuck
on yellow. A king of ice. A small glass of water.
You are far too hot to drink. You think you can
just write your poems & the praise will placate me.
One summer, you strolled down a bike path
& whistled. A sparrow followed you & hopped
between the twigs. I haven’t seen you beautiful
since. I haven’t seen someone loathe the way
you loathe yourself. You make me sick. We have
but one solitary sardine can to brine away our lives in.
What I’m saying is, I need you. I need you, please, to swim.
