The Trouble Is This (Poetry)

You left without a
second thought for all
the things abandoned
in your wake — careless
of grief and wreckage

And I’m crumbling like
a bloodless ruin
toppling brick by brick
daily measuring
your growing absence

Such destruction was
a wilful act I
never would have thought
you’d had the heart for —
not for a minute

I pick through debris
turn the tumbled stones
looking for reasons
to brand you traitor
to my tender cause

The trouble is this —
I’m still waiting for
your explanation
I can’t believe you
planned to kill so slow