Everyone says that they don’t backwash, but they do. You drew out four lines of meth on my kitchen counter, and then you said “I should drink some water," and you backwashed into my glass.
See, you left the goddamned razor blade there and went back to your house and my parents came home three hours later. I greeted them at the door and the dog jumped on my mom and I glanced to my left, saw the razor glint on the dark blue of the countertop, right next to the backwashed-in-glass.
I didn’t drink any more of the water cos, well, it’s kind of gross even though we fucked a few minutes after we blew those lines. My mom asked why there was a razor blade on the counter and I had to make up some excuse, like “I was peeling paint off a palette" or “I needed to get tape off the window."
Anyway, I called you later that night and your mom said you were out with Trish, your ex, and I lay in my bed with my pillow over my ears for about four hours while you probably had your tongue down Trish’s throat, and it was four days before I put that glass in the dishwasher.
Molly Herrick is a second-year student at Hampshire College in Amherst, MA, where she studies poetry writing and literature. "Poem (backwash one)" is her first published piece.
