You Didn’t Ask Her to Join You

Grief pulls up a chair, uninvited,

drinks your Cadillac margarita,

eats your Godiva chocolate cheesecake.

She spills red wine

and unresolved anger

down the front of

your white Angora sweater.

She sticks you with

the tab and the tears.

Before you can smack her,

she runs out the door 

telling everybody

in the restaurant

how much you wish

the cancer had taken you

instead of him.

You can’t even call her

a liar. Good Grief.

published in Write Under the Moon