driving home from work, wednesday

I wonder if you kept the letter I wrote you
and stuck in your pocket (while you slept in the armchair),
before I kissed your greasy forehead
and walked out of your door for the last time.

I wonder if you ever even found it.
Maybe it sat in your pocket for a few weeks
and then got sent through the wash
and you found it in the dryer,
folded, wrinkled and faded.
Maybe you stared at it for one passing moment
and then threw it in the trash.
(Never thought about it again.)
I can see you doing that.

I've been listening to Never Take Friendship Personal and thinking
of you,
of you,
of you.
When will you leave me?
I am desperate for the day.