a thief broke through
my truck window
when the door was unlocked
and that hole where the lock
would have been

(came out on a first date
i walked up to the door and
put my key to open it for you
proud of my chivalry i shuddered
when the lock came out of the door
stuck to my key)

could have been opened just
by sticking your finger
through the hole and pushing
down

but you shattered my window
ripped off my dashboard and stole
the stereo you sold to me (probably already
stolen)
you told me it was one brand and gave me
another a week later.

you liar. signed the waver “p. diddy”

so here i stand in a junk yard
pulling apart pre-’85 chevy trucks
and removing windows then doors
then dashboards and discussing the price
of a car which runs but is worth very little
more than the $125 you get for turning
it into a box of scrapped metal

and i feel at home in your junk yard
across the street from where they’ll
open the wal-mart next week if everything
goes to plan and

the world (and your shack of a house) slowly moves
out of focus as i realize

your hot pants dont make me feel awkward
in the least