breaking up

I never really understood the term, never
knew it truly until I did it to him. He stood at my
front door with his face trying to go in two directions,
dumb like a kicked dog who doesn't comprehend
the reason it was punished. We don't work, I told
him, feeling very calm inside and sort of impatient,
you and I, we don't work.
Why, he asked, and I didn't know what to tell him.
Go home, I said.
Pity
is a terrible thing.