Single, not lonely

  I guide the first-years

  maybe fifty miles away

  from you, in a pastoral painting

  of peaks and model pines.

  Others brought their spouse,

  hanging off each other

  like tied laces. I prefer sandals.

  But the kicking of my heart

  is cool, calm as naps with novels.

  You were away, just another face

  to recognize, another name to forget.

  But these couples can’t derail

  the trains I send off, eyes closed,

  waiting for the truth to hit

  like tons of metal and steel.

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  My man is away, isn’t even mine,

  but has filled the holes riddled

  through my heart

  as though the crumbling ruins

  I hide inside were always royal,

  a Scottish castle

  pictured in those childhood fancies

  that always end the same—

  happily ever after.

  Worn down, not desperate

  One last kick in the jaw,

  bloodied and squinting,

  spitting out a tooth

  and my lion pride.

  The task prowls, smells blood,

  smiles like a sliver moon.

  The task circles like vultures,

  cawing in triumph in a tune

  that smells of failure—naked,

  sweat-streaked, wide-eyed failure.

  Sink or swim—and I can’t stomach

  another cup of salt, can’t cry

  another glass. Run aground,

  the ship eating the shore like a funeral,

  train wreck. You won’t see this,

  I might not see you again,

  I might not leave the hole,

  might not…