I know I am not blameless.
I broke most of my promises
to myself, too.

My punishment is searching for you
as dusk settles
in a Grimms’ Fairy Tale forest

I fell asleep under a tree and woke
with scales, a long tail, a smoking snout
and heartburn.

I found your footprints in the dirt.
They led into an aspen grove
and away from me.

copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

Dibs On Wrigley Field

The vicious wound of our break up
scabbed into a velvet ant.

It scurried across the new typeface
you designed to write your next chapter.

Anger’s loud yawp, kept loneliness at bay
long enough for paint to dry

on white apartment walls
ready for sanity’s scrawl and height-line measures.

Our friends took sides according to taste—
the craft beers

you stocked in your new fridge
compared to the ones I stocked in mine.

copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney


Sixty-five million people watched
the final episode of fill-in-the-blank.
We are talking the end of a relationship here people.
So fill in the blank with name one and name two.
It ended on social media gone viral.
On a retweet from Beyonce sent her way by a drunk.

Friends divide into enemy camps.
Wars of words flame through followed transmissions.
A hashtag precedes their names and is mentioned by Colbert.
Lawyers salivate in anticipation of fattening their wallets.
I am sure some of you said, Finally.
I am sure others of you wept, not seeing it coming.

I am sure some of you cannot wait to ask one of them out.
Breakup sex. Revenge sex. Recovery sex. Blotto sex.
But not in front of sixty-five million people.
A few hundred knowing you are that shallow is alright,
but sixty-five million—SIXTY-FIVE MILLION!!!

That is an electron microscope on your life.
That is more weight than your shoulders will bear.
That is all your spare time responding or blocking.
That is the moment it comes all the way home to you
a two-month old unthinking tweet and insensitive j-peg
broke the outer layer of their bonds
and began the unraveling.

copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney