after you

from here to there
is a place
I want to be.
some distance would
be nice
between us.
I can't wake up
beside you anymore,
or listen
to your voice,
or the sound you make
when you
snore.
your relatives
from jersey are
crowding our lives
with their pet snakes
and pen knives,
filling up the room,
your dog
and cat,
give me watery
eyes.
the roses are dead,
baby, the violets
are too, as tom waits
sang so succinctly,
i'm sick and tired
of picking up
after you.