I'm not a poet on Mondays.

 

Tea.

 

I'm addicted to tea.

 

I'm addicted to Mr Lovie.

 

And he's addicted to me.

 

I didn't mean for that to rhyme, I'm not a poet on Mondays.

 

He'll be gone in January. Five months. Five, lonely, months.

 

But this is for us.

 

He'll be back, and we'll be alright.

 

I'll take care of him. He'll take care of me. We'll take care of ourselves.

 

After all, like he says, "we're the only last two."

So what am I supposed to say, when I'm not allowed to love.
Mama and Papi don't know.
 If they did, they would only try harder to keep Bear away from me.

Bear will be in college next year. I'm proud of him. Why aren't they?

 

*Gie gie