Ron, you're doing household work again,
for my mother, who manages to rope you in
every time you come around.
It's been years,
but last Sunday you ripped the carpet
from the dining room for her,
and now she has dry-walling plans.
Did you know
when you let me leave
without saying goodbye,
I gave her your number for revenge?
Somehow, she convinced you to clean
the basement too, to sort through
my junk and toss probably ten bags.
There's more, and you deserved it all.
You know how often I cried;
you know you were never nice.
You deserved it, and I thought
it was justice, a balancing
of karma between us
especially
when you said you'd changed your mind
and decided I was the woman you wanted.
It seemd so fair
when you wrote that pining letter.
But stiil, you know, I never wanted you to see
that basement, much less clean it.
I didn't want you to dig through my boxes
while sitting in dirt and shit,
smelling mold and dog.
And the carpet was the worst, I bet--
six years later now, six years of cat piss
soaked in.
I didn't dream you'd return,
after the last time,
when I said I could never be yours.
You stayed away two years,
but now you've wandered
to my mother's door again.
Ron, you've paid your dues.
Even I think it's enough.
I guess it must be the same
for both of us--
the past always returns
to hurt you
no matter how many times
you tell it
you don't love it anymore.