I left you, but
you left me first, slowly. The second
job, the spin classes were all
just an excuse for what was already happening.

You left me first, slowly. The second
time you sort-of cheated should’ve been a sign.
Just an excuse for what was already happening.
A week before Christmas, I signed a new lease. Every

time you sort-of cheated should’ve been a sign.
You said you loved me, but weren’t in love with me anymore.
A week before Christmas, I signed a new lease. Every
morning, counting down ‘til the keys on March 15^th.

You said you loved me, but weren’t in love with me anymore.
Walking your Yorkie was my
morning, counting down ‘til the keys on March 15^th.
Refusing the harness, tugging at the leash.

Walking your Yorkie was my
job, the spin classes were all
refusing the harness, tugging at the leash,
but I left you.

Jacob R. Bennett’s poetry has appeared in Genre: Urban Arts, The Helix, Hobart, The Monarch Review, Oyster River Pages, Quail Bell, and Thin Air. He lives near Washington, D.C.