R—, you cleaned up my sick
a few times when you loved me
once in our last few weeks
midway through the Beijing Olympics
twisted in twisted sheets
dry toast and dry crackers
hot water with a nub of ginger
sweaty in bed watching athletes.
When I left you, the next time I visited
did you factor in that expended pity
when you calculated your hatred?
Accounting for that weekend with me
marred by effluent,
or did it more or less make sense?