What I Never Wrote

was how you begged me to keep it.

But you were never home, and I was

but did not want to be. And by then

you had become a man smaller than a man.

So I thought it away. Closed my eyes one night

and dreamt it out of me. And the next day,

you knocked on the bathroom door.

And you charged in and I stood and pointed.

I said, Look at that.

And you asked, Is that

And I said, Yes.

And you said, Oh,

and then you shaved off your beard.