Stop looking at me. I didn’t do anything
wrong. I don’t know the words to the song.
That’s all. I wandered around the mall
with my broken watch. I had all my receipts.
But no one would take anything back.
I am stuck with the whole mess. Saved
phone messages, archived email, notes
you wrote on your hand. The hand you once
held out to me, the bed where we once slept
together. The dirty underwear in the hamper.
I don’t know how I will get home. I don’t
need you to tell me I’m an idiot. I need you
to remember where I came from so I can get
back there and put out the fire and go to sleep.
—Terence Winch
from i.e. anthology
from the archive; first printed 8/8/09
Go to Source
Author: The Best American Poetry