A soft crescent moonlit evening
lights the garden and exposes
the weeds that should have been removed.
He slips carefully into the hammock between
the two trees and sips his drink
as he stares at the mocking moon.
He cries, as he always does, and longs
for his lost love.
All he wanted was the look
she gave his best friend the day
they ran off together.
Instead he got a note on his car window
(it was in the red lipstick he bought her):
SORRY NOT SORRY
His heart wasn’t broken for that implies
the heart must have been intact.
He simply hoped his suspicions were false.
The night-wind flows through his hair
and he puts down the glass, takes a pen
and scribbles his nightly pain in
the form of a cartoon.
A giant half-heart and a bloodied knife,
a simple caricature of his feelings.
He signs his forgotten name below
and goes inside his