A Divorced Dad
Pardons a Cockroach
He’s home.
Counted couples on the train chugging
Home.
From the newly-minted lovers to the
Barely patient partners pressed together,
Silent. Like a wall
of night. Looking outward.
Teeth gritted, bobbing with the rails.
He can’t help but feel like he’s being humored,
Cosmically. The scuffed, metal doors open, a bucket seat
becomes
Available. These couples spy his infirmity. He is
Their cautionary tale.
Home.
And all his burden lifts:
Clothes scuttle. He creeps to
The bathroom, faces his
Toothpaste-accented reflection.
Then, from the corner of the shower tile,
Almost from out of sight,
A thin, brown roach hugs the wall.
He sighs. Leans
close, whispers to the creature:
Tonight, I wish you
peace. Come tomorrow,
We’ll war again. He taps off the lights,
Leaves him to his gestures.
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