When hearts fall apart
they do it a little at a time
as if the pieces might never meet again
like americans on the move whose lives
relocate in their sleep
who pay their bills by phone
and double up to sleep alone.

I keep my heart in a plastic bag
so when the time comes
for you to give it back
it’s easy, safe, convenient
and the air that it’s been missing
won’t rust it while I learn –
a good old roast with freezer burn.

And I don’t intend to give yours back
in the same state I was in
but rather mess it up a little
so next time it’ll pick a partner
who can take it lying down
and doesn’t want to push and shove
an everyday event like love.