you uttered that phrase 
while we sat covered in 
shingle grit and sweat
your wrist over the steering wheel
smoldering filtered camel 
between tar stained fingers 

a country song punching through 
the static void radio crunch 
some song about a broken hearted man
that had it coming 

wished I had a rebuttal 
but I was twenty one
with my first son 
and a bottomed
out bank account 

with no hope of crawling out 
so it became my mantra 
until I realized 
the lie wrapped up 
in the toxic masculinity 
but he let it run him through 
punched his number 

his work 
roofs, buildings, furniture  
a reminder of where he was 
and wasn’t