hunt

I take small scraps of identities you wore,
and finger them in my pocket,
while I sit at a table, facing a man
who is telling me his life story.
I make conversation from these
cheat sheets, speaking as though
the things I learned from you
were things I knew years ago.
I am profiling my partners
against your standard,
looking for a duplicate in all
respects but the one that matters:
you didn't like me enough.

But don't worry.
This man or the next
or the one after that,
will replace you.
Until I find the one who
has a profile sheet
that I match
to the letter.