It’s true, I’m terrible at missing you.
So bad, in fact, that I’ve been asked to leave
for fear of contagious terribleness,
as if protracted apathy could be
a deadly new emotional disease.
It is believed by those who know such things
that my lack of general interest
in the business of missing you proves
the existence of corrosive nodes, or
at the very least blackened valves through which
no blood can flow, though doctors hold high hopes
that exploration of the dark places
may yet reveal a temporary cure,
so I might miss you terribly no more.