Alleycat, So-Long Ten Years

So-Long Ten Years

He reminds me of the
favorite book of poetry
I drowned in the bathtub
like some sort of page
sadist handcuffed to
the letter-forms.

My pen an emblem
of marital discord.
His pages are puckered
and yellowed as if
some vindictive cat
leg-lifted and pissed.

The more I learn about
words. The less I believe
in them. Life is too short
to sleep in the hound’s
abode. We’ve only got
ten good years left.