On leaving

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I want them back,
I say with finality.
Because they are mine.

From Flickr cc by Dogrando

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Escape from Uncanny Valley

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It was when I left
that final time
and told him so,
lip trembling on teeth,
shoulders stiff with
not shaking,

and he pulled back
the sides of his face
and beetled his eyebrows
in parody of sympathy,
in mimicry of others,
and said “we’ll work it out”,

that’s when I knew
I was leaving
for the final time
and told him so,
and he smiled and smiled
and smiled.

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