He hits you.
Believe me I know
how much you think you’ll miss him,
because you’ve got yourself convinced
that it makes you
special; that he’s singled you out
as his one and only
victim, and there’s a certain sense
of intimacy in that. I guess you think
that if you left, his fists would atrophy from lack of use;
he would die alone,
and all of that.
You think it’s love.
But I have to tell you something.
I saw him at a bar the other night.
He was with a blonde, she looked 22,
maybe younger. She said something and I turned.
He had his fingers curled into a fist.
And she was crying.