heartbreak as a drug dealer

i meet him

(because,

of course,

he is a man-

mid twenties,

thin -

with ribs

sticking out

like

park benches

- and

yellow-toothed)

in the dark

at first.

i go

when no one is looking,

so that

i do not feel guilty

for taking

what

he gives me.

i tell myself

this

is just temporary;

i will stop

seeing him

soon

and then

i can pretend

i do not know him.

weeks

knock on

months's

door

and suddenly

i

am knocking

on his,

again,

in the middle of the day.

he swings his door open,

piss drunk,

breath reeking of vomit,

wife beater hanging off his left shoulder

and i don't think he notices

let alone cares,

and i ask him when

the last time he showered was.

he grumbles back a "no",

frowns, then,

an "i don't know"

and i hear my voice.

i blink

and i see myself

standing there:

piss drunk,

vomit-breathed,

bare-shouldered

(and uncaring).

this man

(middle-aged,

thin,

yellow-toothed)

has started to look

a lot like

a mirror.

i reach out

and close the screen door,

still able to see him

or me,

or this mirror

collapse

and i am grateful,

finally,

that i have

a knack

for shattering.