When you didn’t come home from work, I called your office. When I got the answering service, I called your friends.
But your friends didn’t answer.
Then I went to the corner pub to see if maybe you had stopped off for a whiskey sour.
But you weren’t there.
I searched all night, peering into roadside ditches and stirring the lake with my toe to see if your body would bubble to the surface.
But you weren’t submerged in earth or water.
I searched all night, inside ripe dumpsters and halfway houses, under the bridge and behind the porn shop.
But you weren’t cavorting with the winos.
And then I saw your car parked outside of his apartment. Should have checked there first, I always knew you were a whore.