On Good Terms

We split it all fair at a table by the window.

You took the plants. I kept the shelf they used to live on.

You'd rehearsed the kind things, and they were kind, and they were true,

and I matched your tone. I've been wondering ever since why I matched your tone.

Everybody calls it healthy. My mother calls it a shame.

Nobody had to pick a side, so you're still everywhere I'm invited.

You forward my post with a little note on it. "Hope you're well."

I'm not well. I'm polite. Those are different things.

And if you'd burned it down I'd have somewhere to stand —

hate will hold a man up for years if he lets it —

but you were lovely about the whole thing,

so there's nothing to grab on the way down—

We're on good terms.

Isn't that the saddest thing you ever heard.

Nothing broke, so nothing's mending.

You were gentle to the ending.

We're on good terms —

and I'm not over it.

I'm under it.

(I live under it)

I see you at the same parties. We're good at it now.

We've got a routine. People say they hope their exes end up like us.

And you hug me goodbye like a colleague, and it lands like a door,

and I drive home with the radio off, running the whole thing back.

If you'd said one unforgivable thing

I could build a wall on it and live behind the wall —

but you keep being good about it all.

Stop being good about it all—

We're on good terms.

Isn't that the saddest thing you ever heard.

Nothing broke, so nothing's mending.

You were gentle to the ending.

We're on good terms —

and I'm not over it.

I'm under it.

(I live under it)

I said "we want different things."

I'd practised it in the car. I liked how it sounded. Wise.

And you went quiet.

And then you agreed with me.

And I've been looking for the different things ever since.

It was you. The thing I wanted was you.

I just arrived at it late —

and by then you'd already agreed.

(don't ever agree with me again)

We're on good terms!

(so there's nowhere to put this down)

Nothing broke, so nothing's mending —

you were gentle to the ending —

we're on good terms,

and I'm not over it,

I'm under it,

I'm under it,

(I live under it)

Your dad still texts me when the football's on.

I think this time I'll answer.

It's the closest I get.

It's enough.

(it isn't)