You got home late last night.
You didn’t call,
Not that you usually do,
But it would have been nice
To know you wouldn’t be coming.
I made dinner and everything.
It went cold.
I know where you were,
So let’s not pretend.
You were with her again.
Camarasaurus.
At that clubhouse you call a career.
When will you remember me?
And the vows that you made?
Do I have to be preserved in amber,
Dead for millions of years before I can peek your interest?
Don’t lie to me.
I could never make your eyes light up the way
A fossilized femur does.
My father was right.
I should have married the poet.
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