I’ve been saving this one up for years,
Waiting for the right moment.
I want to see the look on your face.
I want to know what you have to say.
I want to know what you think.
I want to know many things,
But something inside me moves me
Further and further away. You ask me
If I am well, and I answer, No, I am not well,
I have not been well since the day you left,
Without so much as a good-bye. The room
Smells of licorice and mint. Is this to hide
The whiskey you drink? The whiskey
You always drank? I was eight the day
I saw you, from the top of the stairs,
With your hand in the cookie jar,
And you mind on escape. Who cares
If you live or die. I don’t.