Turn me back sweetheart, if you have to –
My ugly clothes, my dirty picture
Spit me off if my shoes are muddy
If indeed this nobody’s name has been forgotten.
Write me off then in a public plaza
Read my tattered letters on a microphone –
People would think its poetry
They’ll applause, they’ll cheer
Maybe, a couple or so whistles too from the crowd.
It’s fashionable when broken love becomes poetry
Your front porch will be mobbed by new lovers;
Send me out then in silence, my darling,
Through your back door.