You should have been
a serial killer
with the ways you stalked me
like herpes at prom,
disappearing like Houdini,
reappearing from nothingness.
I was never impressed.
I needed you to go. Get gone.

You should have been
a doctor
with your callous demeanor
and frigid hands,
diagnosing me as mad
when my marbles never spilled.
I kept quiet to remain sane.
I needed you to go. Get gone.

You should have been a fireman,
always late coming,
if at all,
trying to stop my fire,
when the neighbor already extinguished it.
I needed you to go. Get gone.

[This is #10 of 30 poems written by Stephen Earley Jordan II  for a National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). The object is to write one poem per day.]