a Sunday evening poem...

trouble

enough, jesus.
go away.
i’m just going to forget
my prayers
and sleep.
call me next week,
i have time on tuesday.
maybe.
maybe i’ll delete your messages,
ignore your texts,
trash your emails.
you make trouble
and you argue with the cops.
you bring all kinds
of people to breakfast,
you never get the bill.
you lead me down wet stairs
and i fall. i have gravel in my knees.
i’m tired
and terrified
of your next suggestion.
yet then i’m remembering
that overpass
and how you dragged me back,
your persistence
lifting me from the bathroom floor.
you make me want
the morning.
am i really ready to kick you out?
i’m not sure. let’s talk tomorrow.
tonight be quiet.
sit here and
put your hand
over my hand.
let me fall asleep
and undream
everything.