Last summer
I am standing under the awning of the sweeping southern porch
and something hurts
My eyes, squinted and crinkled from the light of the sun
I have had too much and not enough of everything
I place a calloused finger
On the ridge-line of the octagon column nearest me
And trace its etching
I have recovered fully from my vomiting and retching attack
Word vomit because I didn't want you to leave
Retching because that's what you do when you vomit
The dry, short cut grass looks prickly
It looks like if I touch it, it would hurt me
You looked like that sometimes
Like you were doing me a favor to let me love you
Well, now I know what a car's engine feels like
Sputtering and gasping for another sip of gas
To continue giving when it has been given nothing in return
Sputtering and gasping for a taste of affection
after giving all of mine away
I pull my hand back
I have caught a splinter from the column
The one thing I never count on is getting a splinter
The wood is deceptive and concealing
I am standing under the awning of the sweeping southern porch
And now two things hurt