The corpse of yesterday's newspaper rots
in the wet gutter below me.
Your bike is still parked in front of his house,
the one with police tape around the porch.
A pretty girl walks by and smiles at me
but I ignore her, she's not you.
My favorite sweatshirt has paint on it now,
from trying to make you a housewarming present.
A group of men sit in a van parked in front of a halfway house
and it's obvious they are going on a trip together.
I just hope you are happy now, with him or alone,
wherever you are.
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