I ate a tin of kidney beans for my supper.
It wasn’t particularly tasty, but I didn’t mind,
as it was filling, much like the day
that catches me in the act, behind a window
covered with blackout curtains, always naked,
never undressed, not quite sure
whether I’m a grey wolf or a Chihuahua.
It helped when we stopped pretending we knew
each other after we had left in the noughties—
old enough to still remember VHS
and the fleeting infatuation with a palindrome girl.
At least I can tell myself stories—but I won’t believe in them;
they will stay with me for a while, not very tangible,
just like you gazing back from a puddle.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
