It’s been a day, and a day, and a year, since
My neck misses the impracticable stiffness
Of your stiff shoulder beneath,
My eyes rumble the sheets to prove
Your rumbling feet be there,
My hair needs fingers, not anybody’s,
But fingers tiny enough to rest
Among the hairs and boil
Each empty spot of my scalp
When they relax thoughtless.
Even my book misses inept coffee
Blemishes on its cover, even the armchair
Watches TV alone, they broke up with the
Remote control a week ago, when the remote
cheated her with that wireless mouse.
Let me tell you about the carpet, it threatened
To stage a protest against my short hair,
Unable to color its monotony.
If you read this and search for its meaning,
Don’t name it a come-back cliché, you still
Haven’t seen my cat, she doesn’t miss you,
As I will not miss anything of the above,
As soon as I name my cat after you.