The jobless jilted boyfriend prowls his memories
For blame, releases trigger lock
And scowls at pat on back, would spit upon the rose
He bought for her last month, would block
A kitten’s path.
Her address she confides to mom:
Don’t tell him where I live! He’ll stick
And stalk, stake out my flat; this glom
For life is punishment enough! She’s sick
For how she trusted him. She’ll lock
Her twelve-lock door tonight, on knees
Do yoga; pray; check pistol, Mace; beg God he sees
A future. Why do I need love?! she’s sick
Of asking silence, hating roses like a bomb.