Poetry By David Boski

Poetry by David Boski

regretful ending

let’s yell at each other 

and call each other 

names

say things 

we can’t take

back

cause if we 

just go about this

like two mature adults

we won’t 

f e e e e e e l

anything 

now will we? 

so 

go ahead 

sweetheart 

let it all out

call me an asshole

tell me I’m a piece of

shit 

tell me I’ll always

be alone

and that I don’t

deserve 

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

thanks

for 

listening 

A Scent

you always smell like

cigarettes and 

laundry detergent

she said 

as 

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 

beauty

anyhow.

routine 

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

voicemails 

emails

text messages

love

hate

sympathy

empathy

apathy

stress

depression

and so on

and so forth

and there’s nothing

we can do 

about it

which makes it

that much more

debilitating 

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

happening.

“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

send

any money.