Her Walls

A buddy of mine asked me off-line to post some more poetry. This one is about a girl I met back when I was on active duty that really messed me up for a while because she was a cheating cheater who cheated...a lot.


Her Walls

When I arrived in her place I could tell
her door had been left unhinged
for anyone else’s input. Even her walls
were not the same, though
she claimed she had done all of her own cleaning
while I was away humping the desert.
I drew back and pointed for a second
then shriveled like a leech on a damp basement wall
held under a lit match; fuming as I retreated
back into my clothes. With urgency in her body and wearing only
a t-shirt that wasn’t mine,
her lips tried to lure me back inside as if a fresh coat of paint
could hide the stains seeping through the cracks of shoddy
masonry work; I did not want to get trapped inside.
I stared at her walls searching for something concrete.
My eyes locked on to her waste basket where,
barely buried, beneath a swell of tissues slept
a spoiled bag of unwanted children
calling out like the North Star during Christ’s conception.

He left as I entered and we rotated
in and out of her like civilizations over centuries.
Raining death on her as she reigned over us;
She-the queen, he-the king, and I
wasn’t writing on her walls
just for the fuck.