Unable to not peek
where I shouldn’t,
fingers clicking,
stalking fibrous cables
at light speed
in the wee hours,
seeking clues
to your disappearing act
as I toss back
beer after beer.

Deciphering posts
like a savant reading code.

Aha! a photo:
you with a new boyfriend,
some *******
with a face tattoo.

I think I recognize
that neighborhood behind you...
that street sign there,
but it’s too blurry to see.

He won’t last, anyway
do I warn him about you?

Let’s check out
his page....

A gun nut? Really?
AND a big diesel pickup
with chrome stacks like a semi truck.

Compensating, no doubt.

I smile at the thought
of you, after,
unsatisfied
by the thing
he’s compensating for,
with your lying pillow talk.

He leaves, and
you reach in the drawer
of the nightstand
for your little blue toy.

Is this better than
driving by your house
at three a.m.,
counting the number
of cars in the driveway?

Or banging on the door,
drunk, or smashing a bottle
through the window
like I would have
when I was still young
and really *******
alive?