POLITICAL Poem: Things You Said Without Saying Them, by Phillip Elliott

I had just gotten back from my run.
The water filter was left
with just enough for a sip.

The shower was cold—
all the hot water
had already blown off steam.

Only my clothes were in the hamper.
All the drawers were pushed in.

The bed was made—just like at hotels.
No proof of visitors.
Ready for someone new.

Two minutes into our show,
you were asleep
before the intro finished.

Fresh from the barbershop,
you said I looked much older
without the beard.

You asked if I was hungry.
I was surprised
when the delivery man
rang the doorbell.

I said I just need
a moment to myself.
You asked
if it was about you.

You didn’t leave your keys—
just the one to the apartment.

The number I’m dialing
is no longer
in service.