Point one finger at me
three more point back at you
Those were my last words to you
five years ago

Any amends I could possibly make
will only exist between me and God
because you will not
under any circumstances
be worthy of the grace
you once got from me
while you were alive
and kicking people
you deemed beneath you

You are now pushing up daisies
and I am lining my garden
with angels of death

My last email to you
called you out for your
deranged degradation
and for being class conscious
while simultaneously lacking class

And when I play the tape backwards
you were simply jealous
that my appearance
was and still is
quite youthful
at thirty eight years old

That even at my age
I run circles around those
who think they get a free pass
to disrespect me

And though I’ve forgiven you
for all the ways you attempted
to walk all over me
I’ll be damned if I ever forget
that last email
where I left a laundry list
of all the ways
you treated me like shit

You were the recipient
of a ginger tongue lashing that
you would have never expected
from any of your highfalutin
ladies in red hats

And you underestimated
my abilities as a poet
and how they are commensurate
with debunking your assumptions

I am not
the boy
you took
me for

You may have been a saint to many
but you are not worthy of my reverence

It’s been five years since I’ve seen you
and you’ve been dead for seven months

I won’t dance on your grave
but you certainly won’t see me
stand by and weep

For every tear I’ve shed
over those I’ve lost
I will conserve my saline
when I reminisce about you

I may be for giving forgiveness
but damned if I’ll ever forget

You died on September 11, 2019
and I aim for getting my new memories
to be more pleasant
than the old ones
I had with you


Jack M. Freedman is a poet and spoken word artist from Staten Island, NY. Publications featuring his work span 15 countries.

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