I left the washer on again for the second time this week
And all my clothes have come out shrunk and the shirts have all got streaks
But I never learned to iron, that was always more your thing
Should have known when I retired I’d regret you leaving me
I sit outside on the front step and boy it’s something else to see
How East St.’s always changing, unless the changing one is me
But I just zip up my old jacket and I sip my cup of tea
And in this soft retired quiet I regret you leaving me
When I’m inside I dust my medals and my old college schoolbooks
I try to read a bit of Derrida but my brain is all but cooked
So I just yawn and look at pictures of the life we used to lead
And in this soft reflective silence I regret you leaving me
And as I roll back into bed I think of the person I used to be
And in this sober bedtime quiet I understand why you left me
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