On a hot June day
I sat on the pier
My legs dangling
Not unlike the participle
So misplaced by the news anchor in her story of the missing person
Poor woman whose remains were found
She suffered one last indignity
A victim of bad grammer
And here I sit in the middle of an early summer heatwave
Thinking about you
And waiting for my next period
To end the next run on sentence
Of misplaced love
Which you said was never only about sex or that’s what you told me
That last night in your arms
And I cried inside
Not where you could see me
I wasn’t raised that way
You poured us a drink and said you were going on tour
I wrote two songs that day because you asked me
I had misgivings probably because the new soloist was singing my songs and sharing your bed
Where is the pragmatism in that
A coyote was spotted in the city the news anchor said, her eyes glistening
And there was your image on a website offering tickets to your next concert
I closed my laptop and left the pier when it started to rain
