El Presidente Colonial

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You tell me you can’t see us together anymore;
Like those two flower pots on the table:
We’re both there just not together.
I kick and scream and throw paint.
You speak calmer and explain that life goes on,
Ocean’s this,
Forest’s that,
Planets continue to blah, blah, blah—
You’re not coming back
Because I’m not the one.
I throw more paint and missing you,
I hit the piano
At the back of the hall.
A Steward comes out and asks for my credit card.
I admit the room is not under my name;
You give me a nasty look.
The Steward says a man should take responsibility;
A man should speak calmly and explain,
Pain to his this,
Forgiveness to his that,
Punctuality and blah, blah, blah—
I tell the Steward that he should imagine us like the two
Flower pots;
And I kick one of them off the table.

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