Tuesday, April 21, 2020

Cooking With the Lights Out Again

Substitute memory, switched at the last minute
for the one which was going to annihilate you.

He goes back to make sure he's locked the door, goes back
and checks it again.

The whistling stopped when they boarded up the door
The anthills grew considerably after the rain

Some of the people I've loved the most
have the worst taste in movies
Get your things we’re leaving
right now

Scuffed his shoes on the carpet then touched
the metal banister
Savored the shock
You can't just list random things
and expect it to satisfy
Another list of things
that hollow me out

Get in the car
What more do you want
I'm dropping you off
at your mother's for the weekend

It breaks our heart to say
We’ve shuttered our doors for good
Thank you for your years of patronage

A little flutter of femininity
Discarded on the gravel
A single kind word
would have sufficed

What do you want me to say?
That I shouldn’t have eaten all those eggs?
It breaks my heart

When we moved the table
the legs left square impressions in the carpet
When we moved the filing cabinet
The metal scratched the linoleum

I’m dropping off some soup
I’m dropping off some leftovers
I just wanted to give you a head’s up
I didn’t want you to be surprised

The whistling stopped when they
stomped the anthill flat

And who might you be?
I’m that memory that is going to
knock you on your ass

The ceiling tiles stained
by water from above
Shirt caught in the car door

There were no kind words left
Pillowcases full of potatoes
Satin sheets covered with spiders

I can't walk this slowly without toppling over
I can't figure out how to keep
this sleep-stain from spreading

He goes back one last time
The door is still locked

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