I awoke to a note.
“Needed me at work
Be back at eight.”

Always so depressing to find
That he hasn’t the guts to wake me.
Looks like it’s breakfast for one.

The apartment is simple;
a bed, a sofa, a kitchen,
and a view of the city.

His clothes lay strewn ’round the floor
and the hamper is overturned
as if he rebels against cleanliness.

He left the TV on again
like the static is his lullaby
telling him it’s okay to sleep.

I turn.
The window shatters
and the cars rumble outside.
10/28/2007

Behind the Poem

I don’t generally write short poems, but this one turned out to be fairly short. I’m also proud of it. Like most of my works, I have no idea what it is about, but it turned out to be something of the caliber that I want to write.