is not that you were without
a centerfold of curves
with a sky empty of luck
that you kept returning
to a man you mistreated,
a token lover, a mistaken identity
hidden under your mother's bed,
you nicknamed him Cat
and sent him scampering alone
without a bowl of minced fishbones.
You pretended to cry in front of strangers
how he died without a proper diet
Kyle Hemmings has two chapbooks of poems out: Avenue C from Scars Publications, and Fuzzy Logic from Punkin Press.