I am not a body in the wreckage;
this is not the part where you
drive by slowly again and again,
your speckled egg-shell neck craning
to see what damage you might have done.
There is no yellow-tape around my heart,
and they have not outlined my shape in chalk.
I am not an animal in a cage
here for your amusement when you
get bored or lonely or just want
me to remember that you used to be
the one who kissed me good night.
I will not pull out my entrails
so you can see if my heart still
beats or if it was a job well done.
I am not the debris at ground zero,
and there will be no memorial built
here in honour of what you ruined;
it wasn’t worth the ash it left behind.
Just something I wrote long ago
