Scenes From A Wreckage Poem by Alexander Hawkins

You were laughing at the time when I was just learning French
and thought ménage à trois meant we were eating at three.
If I were searching for a metaphor for where it all went wrong,
I think it was there.

There aren't many definites. The stubborn others
are in waiting, hesitant as an glacier canvassing the widest Nile.
Darling, you know clock-watching is not common flattery but even a life spent
observing all the most intellectual tragicomedies is prone to loneliness.

Did you know you can get tonsillitis
even if you've had your tonsils out? I wouldn't be listening,
I'd be transfixed by your throat and follow it down to the smooth
skin of your back,

which is bright with baubles of sweat shower sweat,
as you mock me politely with the passion of regret.