I am the crushed cereal at the bottom of the box
Your last clean pair of underwear you only wear on laundry day
The popped balloon left in the balloon seller’s hand at
The end of the day when he goes back to his
One bedroom apartment and warms up soup in the microwave

I am the last thing you want to watch on TV
An infomercial or a re-run re-run of a show you don’t like
I am the bit of soda left in the can
That’s mixed with saliva and has no taste
And most times you don’t drink it, so
You just toss away the can with me still inside

I am the wallpaper in a dentist office
That no one buys except to paper dentist offices
I am the crumbs you sweep under the rug
I am that thing on craigslist that would be
Perfect except for that one little thing wrong

I am all those lonely things.

He wanted to hold her hand
but his hands shook with
the memories of his childhood.
The musty room, clouded
with the sweet stink cigar smoke.
His father who stank of acrid alcohol
And a voice that rumbled like thunder.
The crack of the belt across his skin.

She wanted to hold his hand
but her hands shook with
the all too recent past.
The man who claimed to love her
but dragged her down the stairs by her hair
if she wouldn't lie with him or play housewife.
His bitter breath on her neck,
and the bruises he left on her skin.

Shaking hands, various pasts.
Maybe if both our hands shake,
We won't notice our own pain.