reminisce

by Jim Wittenberg

no job to lose my soul
doing
no friends close by

the room is barely
affordable
empty
except for a borrowed couch

you’ve taken my son
threatening to never let me
see him
again

I’m going to stop writing
poetry
for the next dozen years
& it’s the only religion I follow

forgive me if in my heart
I call you
a bitch

in this unholy confusion
I forget to say it aloud