Tuesday, February 5, 2019

Poetry By David Boski

Poetry by David Boski

regretful ending

let’s yell at each other 
and call each other 
say things 
we can’t take
cause if we 
just go about this
like two mature adults
we won’t 
f e e e e e e l
now will we? 
go ahead 
let it all out
call me an asshole
tell me I’m a piece of
tell me I’ll always
be alone
and that I don’t
your love
or any love 
for that matter
but when you finish
it’s my turn
and I have a lot 
of things I’d like
to get off 
my chest
a lot of things
we’ll both regret 
later on 
but by then
it’ll be 
too late

A Scent

you always smell like
cigarettes and 
laundry detergent
she said 
we both lay there
post orgasm
waiting for the drugs 
to wear off
so we could
fall asleep
knowing that this
wouldn’t last
but enjoying 
the momentary 


it all drains you

. . .

the arguing
the fighting
the menial tasks
the day to day
the job
the relationships
your friends
your family 
the drugs
the alcohol
the madness
the death
the news
social media
phone calls
text messages

and so on
and so forth
and there’s nothing
we can do 
about it
which makes it
that much more

Urine Trouble

I awoke to what I thought was a running drain or a leak of some sort, when I noticed her sitting

at the edge of the bed.

“You hear that?” I asked annoyed, but she didn’t respond.

she had come to my place wasted earlier that night, and that’s when I realized what was


“Jesus Christ, are you fucking pissing on the floor?” I asked as I reached to turn on the light

switch in an angry panic.

The answer was no, she wasn’t relieving herself on the floor but rather the mattress itself.
“Sara, you pissed on the fucking bed!” I yelled as I tried shaking her awake.

“wh…uh…at” she slurred.

“what do you mean what? you pissed on the fucking mattress you fucking cunt”
“oh shit, I’m sorry. I’ll get you a new one” she replied, suddenly awake.
Perhaps due to my yelling or maybe because she was sitting in a puddle of her own piss.

“It fucking stinks, where the fuck are we going to sleep?”

“I’ll get you a new fucking mattress. I’ll send you the money for it!” she yelled back at me.

“no, no, fuck that. you’re done, that’s it.”
“you’re breaking up with me?” she asked confused.

“yes, get the fuck out. I have to get rid of this and sleep on the fucking couch.”
“fine, I’ll send you the money you fucking asshole” she said as she finished getting dressed and

putting on her shoes.
. . .

The next day she transferred me the money for the mattress, but I sent it back and I took her

back instead.

A month later we broke up again.

But this time
she didn’t
any money.

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