Good Italian Restaurant Poem by John W. McEwers

I told you to avoid the bottomless pasta
but you could never avoid bottomless
anything
especially other men.

I knew you were trouble when you poured your merlot
in my Ossobuco, and my veal tasted
like your infidelity juice.

Our anniversaries were never what I imagined,
and I can remember that clearly now,
as though a spell has been broken,
as if a veil has been lifted,
as though I'm not stupid,
no matter what you say.

I think I'd sooner eat fish sticks
from a dog's bed
than celebrate one more year of you.
Though I do not need to.

You're gone. Off enjoying French restaurants now
even though I know you liked our Italian times better
and Orange Duck looks like cooked knee.

But no matter how down you get me,
all I need to remember is that
I'm a strong and valiant man
walking proud under the moon's gaze
and enjoying a calm night
with a woman who I genuinely deserve
despite having paid for her to be there.

You earned your way through college too,
By conning a man who loved you
and gorging on pasta
I hope your heart is as clogged with the past
as mine.