Facebook tells me you have someone new
or really, not-so-new, as the dates on these photos
reveal that she was around long before
I even tied my shoes to leave.

Meanwhile, yours were fully laced, giving me
the runaround, and I see she was at your marathon
on Sunday, standing in the morning cold for 3 hours
just to watch your chicken legs shuffle across a finish line.

I’m sure she kept plenty warm though, wearing those
fingerless gloves she knits and sells on Etsy,
overpriced, with buttons that don’t attach to anything
while you’re attached to her.

A quick Google returns her MySpace page,
updated about two years too recently, and a YouTube video
of a song she wrote– two oscillating chords,
her voice trilling something about little birds.

The two of you are building tent forts held up by Christmas lights
and making s’mores in the living room fireplace
and she comments “if that’s not love...”
Trust me, sweetie– it’s not.