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,
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
And I kick one of them off the table.