narcissist
New York - 2019
She calls me with that lump in her throat
and those short choppy sentences
mumbling that she is leaving me.
Was I shocked? No. Outrage? None.
I’ve heard it all too many times
b e f o r e.
This isn’t her breaking point.
This isn’t her moment of epiphany,
of finally being able to let go,
of coming to terms
with the charade of a reality
she’s been prancing around in.
All the deception and betrayal,
I covered up with thoughtless gifts
and empty compliments,
and she ate it with a fork and knife
for y e a r s.
So I say what I always say;
I love you and I will be home soon
and she tells me to fuck myself
and hangs up the phone.
I give her some time
to come to her senses
before I head to her.
It’s about 7pm and I pull up
to a blocked driveway,
of packed bags
of phony memories,
blank Father’s Day cards
from my daughter;
lipstick stained suits
and my ‘outdated dress shoes’…
