Lit, Lit Poetry

Northbound by Rowe Carenen Copeland

I found a bejeweled iPhone
on what used to be my dining room
table, now his desk.
In our house.
His house.

I want to  go full-on hulk
and smash it to bits, leave a nasty
note on the frilly floral face.
Find our wedding picture and leave
it under the phone.

I’m just sad.
Sad for him. Sad for her.
I clear my throat, find my tea pot
and pack the last of the memories
into liquor boxes.
Move on.