I Remember You
Idly chewing on a memory stick,
waiting for transportation outta here,
I'm pole axed by a memory:
my husband having sex, but not with me.
No idea he'd even sold memories;
when had he been that hard up for cash?
It hurt he hadn’t asked for my help,
but more than that,
I knew that other guy,
knew the place,
it was my god-damned bed!
I’d bought the stick at a kiosk by
the shuttle stop,
disingenuously labeled “World
Vacation Spots.”
How did this happen,
and how many remembered screwing my
husband,
in my bed,
and didn’t know I
existed?
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