by Belinda Roddie
In retrospect, I shouldn't have tried to
get back together with that little bitch.
Instead, I simply should have gone with you,
though truthfully, you'd think I was a witch.
I can't blame you - I'm horrid. I'm a drunk,
a chainsmoker, and yes, I'm quite profane -
I cuss like an old sailor who has dunked
his head too many times in brine. It's plain
to see that I'm not too compatible
with anyone who still has half a brain
or even still a fragment of a soul,
so I'll just sit in my corner and drain
my fourth glass of the night. In retrospect,
I'd know to love better if I weren't wrecked.