Backseat Poem
I love notes app poetry in the back of an Uber on the way to go out for the night. Dear God it’s me G and I just saw a guy throwing up at a bus stop while talking on the phone. Not talking I guess, barfing on the phone. X drove by today as I was getting out of my car and pointed at me. Hello??? I’ll be gone soon and then I’ll mail him that letter, or maybe I won’t. I wrote that yesterday and when I woke up I had a letter from him in the mailbox. I hate what he wrote, unsurprisingly. He says he has been alcohol free for half a decade, which is a blatant lie. Whatever. It made me feel empty reading what he wrote, reminding me of half apologies I’d heard from him before. I added a PS to my letter that I haven’t sent calling him out for hiding bottles in the bathroom, something he doesn’t know I know about. Soon I’ll be gone gone gone. I imagine a person running, coming quick, bursting through a door only to find an empty room. The floor planks are dusty and there’s an untouched moving box in the corner. I resonate with the searcher even though I am the runner now as I have been before. I end the letter I might send, Bye, G