Divorce Or “The Non-Perfected”

We are divorced.
Divorced.
Now.
The children don’t walk into
the kitchen to see us.
The children don’t exist in
the garden
or the backseat of
the SUV
moving through moonlight
into the
mountains.

Your hair falls for some other
kind of
silence on the bathroom
floor.

The grime on the light switch
stays.

Another family moves in.

The heroic
Industrial Revolution is
winning.

It defeats the unpresentable.

The solo. The non-perfected.

divorce

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