It was the rain, I guess, or private flux

I trod: Two cents I wasn't meant to hear

exchanged burrowed deep into my pockets;

upset my damp, complacent certitude:

“Should I not have said I miss them/him/her?

Rather, should I have said I miss us/you?”

I don't have to feel bad, but I do; worse

for taking the stairs too fast, staying on

amends dredged from the bottom of your purse:

How else could I pretend not to pretend 

that you can’t hear me when I'm all alone

in our apartment, to be glad I could 

not be, just like I'm glad that you happened

on me instead of choosing someone good?

I can't feel my wedding ring and lose it.

Did I lose it? Is it on my right hand 

(sometimes I move it to my thicker right 

ring finger when it feels a little loose 

[from the cold – finger shrinkage] on the left…)? 

I've lost it (...because one time it flew off

my left hand in the shower and I was 

stricken; positive, as I listened to 

it ping around the tub [I remember

my eyes were closed. I must have been washing 

my face, I guess, or hair], that it would fall

unrescuably down the drain)! But then,

there it always is. As a precaution,

I shove my hands deep into my pockets.