He walked out, took it all.
I have nothing of my own now.
I am hand-me-down,
head-to-ankle.
These boots are still mine.
They may not be made for much,
but I'd rather take that long walk
off a short
conversation,
than stroll a mile in anyone else's shoes.

Because I. am. tired.
30-mumblesomethingmumble and
planning my exes' weddings,
but that's one walk
I'll never get to take.
The only aisle in my future
is at the grocery store, and
I'm giving up pre-packaged prepared preservatives,
because I don't believe that anything
"made to last"
is good for me anymore.

I don't want to be so 19 again,
trying on a 'new me' every week.
I was just getting comfortable
with my "Mom Jeans"
though [Thank God!] I don't even have kids.
I left 'skinny' a decade back,
and I haven't followed a trend since flannel.
I wore make-up about as often as
he wore a tie
-- weddings, funerals, job interviews --
because after eleven years waking up to the same face,
what masks were left to try?
But dress me up, and point me to a stage,
theater of my absurdity,
where he can't see the future if I'm in it.

And I will be the clown,
because it's the one role I haven't tried,
and at least these shoes look roomier
than those pointy-toed numbers.
[I'm not that balanced these days,
and I got bored with tight ropes and acrobatics
an IUD or so ago.]
So I'm singing for the bar
and dancing on tables,
but we're staying 'til I'm sober,
because, let's be honest, there's no practical way
I can leave my car in this lot, overnight,
and still get to work on time tomorrow.

So, thanks for the company.
I got home late, but safe.
And my cat was the only one who missed me.

11/23/2013

Author's Note: I wrote this after a poetry slam, at a bar, surrounded by friends. It all felt so necessary at the time. Title is from the Polish idiom, "Nie mój cyrk, nie moje małpy" -- literally, "Not my circus, not my monkey," figuratively, "not my problem."

Posted on 04/22/2014
Copyright © 2024 Meredith C Hartwell