I should have known by the way
He worshipped his car
And chased younger girls
That he was not worthy to bask in the glow
Of my lava lamp and plastic constellations.
The Magic 8 Ball did not warn me of
The thousand cuts brewing ahead,
Only telling me what I wanted to hear
With each shake.
But that’s okay. I rinsed him off.
Put on my boots and fresh
coats of mascara and cherry chapstick.
My only regret at 17,
I didn’t pick apart his cousin
Like a plate of chicken wings.