His name was slapped across my moving boxes
the last label and favor he ever gave me
But sitting in an empty room, clear carpet
Except for his sickly guts across one corner
(Second to last parting gift, yaking new year!)
I saw that I had
hit refresh.

All my belongings:
Bed,
Clothes,
Pride
Were puzzled into a car ready to never return.
So I
steam cleaned the stain and
swept each Newport fragment from the porch and into the boxes,
X-ed over 7 letters,
and plopped them down in the dumpster.

I used to think a clean break was an oxymoron
And moving on, a cliche
But in my new room,
even my mind is pristine
because no dust of our past remains.