Me And You And Alex Poem by John W. McEwers

I remember our couch
in our last apartment
on Rosebank Avenue

We had found it, crippled,
crying silently in that alley
and we two gave it a home

Something sharp and forceful
tore wounds in its sides,
springs and stuffing
leaked from the gashes
like fluffy blood,
exposing its once-hidden parts
in a dark alley, like an exhibitionist,
and at once the magic of couches
was gone.

It wasn't something
you'd want to sleep on
let alone sit on
but you made me for months
after you met that lawyer
while you were sexing that lawyer
before you left with that lawyer
for Paris
with that home-wrecking lawyer.

Months I laid there,
where you left me to spoil
and bloat in my expired love,
abandoning me to a hundred
nightly neglects, soul split
and spilling like the couch.

And so I watched Jeopardy!
Night after night
because that's the only show you'd Tivo.
And though no amount of 'Us' words
could bring you back
and no amount of 'Potpourri'
could clear our air,
I spent our remaining time
under one roof
searching for answers
in a world that only accepted
questions.