A Race Against the Garbage Men

I was not careful,
in my movements.
Not like you were
with your condescention;
articulating each word sharply,
painfully cutting into me
so deep, so clean.

Like the skilled mortician, 
performing an autopsy,
cutting clean so
no evidence remains,
but, you knew exactly
which words would
slice with ease my flesh-
would leave only scars that I could see.

I rumpled the shirts,
dragged the television,
and broke the silver frames
to bend and scratch
the pictures preserved within
as I banished you to the curb.

I forgot to mention,
                          the trash runs tomorrow.


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