I was the problem

this succession of shack jobs

beautiful young women

who came into my life

for a year or two

then broke us up cursing me

my indigent wasted ways

I was the problem apparently

& I’d be still the same

as when they entered

tho’ now they at least

had somewhere to live

it was always me having to find

some new place to hunker

& they’d be sure to have

more stuff than when they came

I’d be off with a half car load

paperbacks notebooks music

to another place begin again

for another young woman

come along promising love

to later find me the problem


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