poetry by j matthew waters

Wrong number

I’m less concerned
of my own demise
than I am of your
mental health

I’ve checked in & out
of clinics
most of my life
and each time I swear
I’m starting
all over again

But as we all know
each & every one
was nothing
but a false start
having always wound up
in the same place

I walked one hundred miles
to find you no longer
live in the house
I was raised in

When I knocked
on the door
and a stranger answered
I said I’m sorry
I must have the wrong

november two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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