Lament

[cidermaid]

Hi Rowens,
I read this a couple of times now and been left unsure where to comment. But it is just about to fall of the bottom of the current list, so i'll give it a punt. As it is in the misc section i will not make much crit comments.
It has taken me a while to connect with a thought line picture. (Although i can see a strong sub plot behind the surface text). The stumbling block for me was the last line of the opening stanza. I want to be able to connect this into the last stanza...I want to understand why you (I'm assuming a female persona) will soon have someone laughing with you, as the last stanza suggests to me the woman has not yet left nor perhaps intends to leave the "creep". So on this level i found it a very sad poem that speaks of the pointlessness of some existances that are lived. I read into this a story about a a girl who is awake to the grim realities and stupidity of her current situation and yet is reluctant to do anything about it. (Sadly today an all to familiar story - well worth the telling).

I've added a couple of crit notes here for your consideration.

I laughed at myself. I laughed at myself.
I laughed at myself.
Soon I'll have someone laughing with me. This person is missing from the telling so is a mystery. In fact i think the whole first stanza could be ommitted

The last of my stuff in the medicine cabinet.
He left some stains in the toilet;
must be the first time he went in a while,
since I hid our stash behind the books
on the bookshelf. I like the narative / contemplative style of the opening and i supplies plenty of solid images though perhaps a bit too two dimensional

The books he never reads;
the books he bought
to show off to our friends,
without taking them off the shelf. Nice intro to her contempt and first laugh at herself

I remember the nights he spent wiping.
He could push one only out enough I want to place a comma after out, to smooth the way i want to read this
that he had to scrape away at it for hours, and a period after hours
till his fingers couldn't reach any farther.
We went through toilet paper like rolling paper. Sorry prob being really dull but just checking:- is this a ref to cig / smokes paper or is there some other mass produced paper in America called rolling paper. I get an image mismatch between reams of toilet paper and sheaves of cig papers. I have a stumble when i read trying to put the images together. Probably just me

Everybody told me he wasn't any good.
His own mother told me,
for Christ's sake!
A knob! A fucking knob!
What would he do without me?...

Likely shit himself to death
if he hasn't found something already.
Embarrassing creep. If only I had never met him.
I saw the signs, like I've seen the signs a hundred times,
with all these guys I've loved.
He cuts the farts that cut to the heart. Nice ending has a sound like a cig but end being thrown dismissivly to the ground if Aretha F was reading there would also be one of her expressive "shit" s to round it off.

There are elements of this poem that deserve more attention. The back story is worth the write.
AJ.