The opposite of synergy

And other poems that hurt to write

The chicken lady 

Sería más feliz soltero he yells as he starts towards the door. “I would be happier single”

Me estás rompiendo las pelotas he shouts. “You’re breaking my balls”

                                           “Don’t leave,” I rush to stop him. “Hear me out,” I beg

                                           “I made you chicken,” I gesture to the oven

He sits on the couch and ignores me. Not leaving, but far from present

                                           Who the fuck is she, I wonder and when did I become her

                                           this stranger who roasts chicken and begs men to stay

                                          “I’m done,” I say. A sentence long in the making

He opens the door and motions, andá, sé feliz. “Go, be happy”

                                           And just like that, the chicken lady is freed

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Wintering

I collapse and let myself be watered

There will be no blooms, there haven’t been for a while

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The opposite of synergy

In my head we are happy on vacation, drinking wine

It’s the what could have been that never actually was

If I’d had more patience, if he’d had less anger

If he wasn’t so keen to grab his things and storm out

If I wasn’t so good at pushing him away, hoping he’d hurry back 

                                                                                so I could yell at him some more

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Impatient

When do I get to stop thinking of him as the best kisser in the world

When do I get to stop thinking about his tennis arms and his sleepy eyes

Of his chest as my pillow

Of his dance moves as my home

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Free, finally free

But in losing him my wings have turned to lead