You entered the bedroom and fell to your knees. I wait the rest of my life to hear you say, I made a mistake. Inside my chest, a mangle. Inside yours, a deflating balloon. You took the vacuum cleaner, the ironing board, the dish rack and left me some lint, an iron to scorch shirts, one chipped plate. I would like to say at least we perfected entrances and exits, like professional stage actors honing their craft, but even that’s a fantasy. Mostly on TV the lions ate the hyenas but sometimes the hyenas formed a posse, and tore a lion up. Occasionally you came in out of the rain and I was glad to have you. Copyright @ 2014 by Courtney Queeney. Used with permission of the author. |
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