POPSICLE GIRL
Bruce had been in rehab almost two weeks -
His 4th in 2 yrs -
When I came for family visiting hours
Ten days earlier when I’d dropped him off
A woman in the office had given us a tour of the grounds
and house, introducing us to 8 of the 12 other patients
(revealing herself to me a sadist),
& before I left, I whispered to Bruce,
“This is the first time I get to see the women you will fuck
while you’re in rehab.”
When I came back for visiting hours, I checked in
At the office, then stood out front waiting for Bruce
Standing in front of me by a small pond was the young
21 yr old blonde I’d seen ten days earlier
She’d smiled sweetly at me then, the little coquette
Now she stood facing Bruce’s cabin, sucking on a popsicle
“I’m going to call you ‘Popsicle Girl,’” the office woman called
From behind me, implying this was a regular thing
with this girl: sucking on popsicles while facing my (ex) husband’s
cabin.
A few seconds later Bruce appeared
I hadn’t seen him exit the cabin
I felt his hand on my arm and I said, “Hey, it’s popsicle girl.”
“Popsicle girl,” I said, pointing for Bruce.
It was after this that I got labelled toxic.
“You know, they almost didn’t let you come,” Bruce said, smoking a cigarette
in a chair outside his cabin where we’d gone to talk
for privacy.
“I knew it was a bad idea to have you come here,” Bruce said.
I didn’t disagree.
There had been a lot of bad ideas.
This was just one.
ALL BRUCE’S CRYING SELFIES
I had a whole folder on my laptop desktop
Full of selfies Bruce had taken while crying or smoking
day three of a cycle of having left me
To fuck his ex or fuck a sex worker or both
By day three he would be back at his house,
Crying and smoking and sometimes threatening
Suicide; Day three he always wanted me back
What do I do now with all these selfies
Of Bruce crying
You cannot cut photos sent via email or text
Into a hundred pieces on your bedroom carpet floor
Or burn them in an ashtray or fireplace
Or mail them back to the person who sent them
All you can do is delete the folder
Which feels a little too easy, painless,
Anti-climatic
When all you want is to feel the fire on your face
The burn in your hand
To smell the ashes
Does anyone actually delete photos of their ex anymore?
Where are all the selfies of your ex?
CHEAPSKATE CLIENT VIBES
When I asked my friend X, who is a sex worker,
what they thought of Bruce
after meeting him in NYC,
They said, “he has cheapskate client vibes”
The nice thing abt your ex being a sex addict is
You always know where you can get a fuck
I could fuck my (ex)husband when I wanted to
And fuck anyone else I wanted to too
I could keep fucking Bruce until I fell in love with
Someone else and then I would only fuck
The man I was in love with and Bruce would probably
Kill one or both of us but that was one risk
& love was another.
FLORAL MESSAGE SENT TO BRUCE’S REHAB
I sent Bruce flowers in rehab
Even tho we were divorced
And I was leaving him
My soulmate, will you ever open up to me
Abt your compulsions & shame?
Is “anxiety” code for shame? For compulsion?
There are no ways to explain our actions
When it comes to love or death
Love and death make all of us insane
Some more obviously than others
Humping the ground above a grave, for instance
Or sending a man you are desperately trying to
Move on from flowers in rehab
The rehab facility workers waited three days
To deliver the flowers to Bruce
Because I am toxic and codependent
Because I am not good for Bruce.
THE BEST THING ABOUT BRUCE
Was he didn't mind being written abt
No matter what shitty thing he did I detailed
In a poem or story or yet-to-be-published memoir
No matter how much of a scumbag addict he came off
He was just happy to be my muse
He was happy to sit in a bar in New York City
And listen as his wife read poems about him
Being a lying cheating druggie
Because in the poems it always came thru
That his wife loved him
The only way Bruce could be not happy
Was if I wrote abt someone else
If I had a new muse
Then Bruce would be officially dead
In my poems
R.I.P. Bruce
