Dewitt Smith Responds to His Ex-Wife’s Question of Do you miss me? by Curtis Dunlap

I don’t miss the stench
that greeted me at the door
after a day at work,
the dog shit and piss
accumulating gnats
I waved away
from my wine glass,
or my pleas
for you
to help me clean our home
while you slyly managed
to find something else
to do.

I don’t miss your touch
when you wanted sex,
or the way I cringed
when you tried to
woo me
into your filthy bed
I abandoned
a decade ago.

I don’t miss your cooking.
Pouring a jar
of store-bought Alfredo Sauce
over hamburger and noodles
does not constitute
a home cooked meal.

I don’t miss the way
you sat at the computer
chatting-up an
affair into the wee hours,
your fingers rapidly tapping
a cipher
of family deconstruction,
or your negligence
toward our children,
the ball games you missed,
your reply of “Go ask your father!”
when one of our children wanted
you
to fix them something to eat while
I studied for a test
or worked on a paper
for school.

I don’t miss having
to makes excuses for you
when your boss called
wanting to know
why you missed work.

I don’t miss your indifference,
the way you sat at the computer
with your back to me
when I told you
I was leaving,
or how quickly
I became
a Facebook status.