You were crying on Tuesday
and I don’t feel bad for you today.
You walked away that winter day
when I shoveled out your mother and her cars.
I knew then, that this was the best:
you swearing against a deity and its mess.
What’s God’s problem?
My arms and my legs ache.
Does a deity have my number
or is he just getting lazy enough to
let me fall in love every day that I’m not too busy to notice.