The first time we met

it was chiefly by accident.

I was carrying a baby

on my hip, like a jigsaw piece

so warped from repeated

wranglings that application

was no longer possible.

I apologized profusely

for the loss the of your dog,

your wife, your Jesus-print

toaster and on and on

it went until I realized

you had lost everything

as a result of your “genius”.

The second time we met

I was watching the horizon shrug

into obsolescence. My heart threadbare,

my margins glamorous and precise.

I waded through oil slicks

of self-gratifying dialogue,

feathers penned and weathered.

In the end I rolled away

like a wave, your body fetal

beneath my uncompromising recoil.