A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

Half joking — we talk about devices listening in
as the algorithm advertises
something we are not even sure we spoke out
loud, but if they do hear then Facebook
has heard me swear — for fuck’s sake,
stop showing me painful memories —
and heard me beg — there must be an easier way
to delete these than day-by-day
as you remind me of younger naiveté,
of mistakes, of his lies, of the ways
I thought I could love him enough,
I could be enough —
and yes, it’s heard me cry.
(I remember that trip to Melbourne,
marked by fear and hurt. I remember
that rugby game, and how I cried,
and that Mexican dinner, overwhelmed,
when he asked me why I could not be normal.)
I do not understand why the account has been disabled
but as like as not the algorithm knew I needed a break.