"The spring."
He told her what he was going to do.
"What else is new?"
she said.
She finished putting the winter jumper on the baby,
she kissed and hugged her.
He stood there like you stood at the corner of the world.
"I told you," she said, "what you do is your business.
You don't have any here."
He held out his trembling hand to the baby.
The baby looked at it like she might look at cold chicken.
"Baby," he said, weakly.
"Mm," the baby said, and she hugged her mother.
There wasn't much on the other end,
other side of his life except the usual wreckage.
"Go on," he said again.
"She's probably there.
She'll tell you."
"I know what she'll say.
The usual shit.
Go to hell," she said.
"Right now go hell," the baby said.
[LAUGHTER]
There wasn't anything to say anymore.
Might as well talk to the fucking sky.
He tried one more time, though.
"What are you going to do?"
he said.
She didn't hesitate.
"I'll call the fucking cops if you don't leave right now,"
she said.
"Right now," the baby said.
His head spun right down from the larger circle.
The spiral became small, then smaller and tight
like a spring.
"Please don't do that," he said.
His voice quavered.
"Please just listen."
He felt like the coiled spring was in his hand.
It made his whole arm tremble.
The baby was now fully dressed, and mother and child
moved toward the door.
"Please leave," he heard his ex-wife say.
"You must try," the counselor had said.
"Forgive yourself."
He had tried.
And he had tried.
And he had failed every task.
"Keep a journal," the counselor had said.
"Do your fourth step.
Talk to your sponsor.
Keep talking.
Go to meetings.
Make amends."
He had tried, and then he had not tried.
Keep failing, keep failing, and finally, you
will have what you do not.
Finally, you have what you do not have.
The end of the world will be yours.
When the police came he stood outside the door,
the spring loaded and ready.