interlude

I guess this is goodbye again...
cliche as it may sound
it really is raining out there
and though with Christmas, and Kwanzaa
I did not remember to stare at the phone
it is now December 27th
the phone has not rung
On Christmas day I got five text messages before 10am
I thought you had apologized for...
"who could that be?" I smiled
my friends watched the smile on my face
turn into a wrinkled brow
as I listed off names
none of them yours
ending with, humph?
but because you fucked up again
it's not supposed to be me who calls
I am doing the appropriate thing
by reading Charles Bukowski and drinking beer
I am the adult here
I don't need to keep putting myself in the position
to wait out your interlude.
just because your melody is "my song"
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I very much like this poem. The words "fucked up" jar me. I don't consider myself a prude. They just don't do service to the excellence of the rest of poem.
sg