Learning To Be Alone

Means coming home to the dogs at 2 am 

in the morning after finishing a rotten

shift at the restaurant. You pause 

for a minute and realize just

how happy they are that you're finally

home--they've always been this happy, so

happy for something so simple, yet 

you've always been preoccupied with 

the business of coming and going to have 

noticed just how much your arrival means

to them.

You open two Heinekens to save yourself

a trip to the refrigerator and consider calling 

up some boy to come keep you company,

but you don't--because the silly politics

of this whole "learning to be alone" thing

whisper "fail" if you decide to pick up 

the phone. You think about calling your ex.

It would be easy, but you don't. 

You turn on the TV and ponder the

authenticity of a shady commercial

advertising a Latino phone chat line and
wonder how they stay in business.

Most of the lights in your house have

been turned on. You hate staying by yourself

and the neighbors probably know it.

You open your computer at 3:15 am. 

You write a poem--

or something like that. The smaller dog

climbs onto the couch and falls asleep,

face down, in your lap. The bigger dog

rests obediently at your feet. 

Tonight, you have everything you need.

Tonight, you exist.