Dewey, Dear

I am grinning ear to ear, all for what, all because of you,
talking about your sweet nothings,
and our sticky somethings

I am drinking glass to glass,

to make all of that go away

to make it be anywhere but in the present

If it stays back there,

I can buy you a shovel so that you can do our dirty work,

at this point,

it is only fair,

I think most of our friends would agree

and would agree with me

You murdered me a very long time ago,

and robbed me of a sense of enchantment,

and robbed me of an identity,

of symmetry in the morning's mirror

And I rolled over in my grave,

just like I rolled over in my life,

looking up at you with miles of regret catalogued in here,

and nothing but something about decimals

and a long list of other people's accomplishments

We used to remember them,

together,

in the cracked and jagged daylight of that room,

But I took them with me,

they are mine,

and mine alone