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He Walked Out the Door
A poem of rage
Note: This is a piece of art. No humans were harmed in the writing of this poem.
He walked out the door just like that, taking everything he owned, even that bad gray hat.
That I gave him.
Said I was too demanding and he just couldn’t hack it, as he slid his arms into that fine leather jacket.
That I gave him.
Said he found another woman that he really loved as he reached in his pocket for those cashmere-lined gloves.
That I gave him.
Said he’d miss my soft body and sweet little face as he headed out the door with the Samsonite suitcase.
That I gave him.
Said life gets rough sometimes. Hadn’t I heard? As he picked up the keys to that brand new Thunderbird.
That I gave him.
Said he was filled with discontent, misery, and strife as he walked out on five of the best years of his life.
That I gave him.
Remembering that time, I see how hatred loomed on the night he received five gunshot wounds.
That I gave him.
Thank you for reading! ❤️
