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In your den
you waited with the dead mice you brought home; They twitched On occasion Not to eat but to store in a heap to admire when you felt useless
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You told me you'd get to
the lobster tomorrow and you went back to playing your video games for the rest of the night In the tank, the lobster molted again and again while you remained the same in your T-shirt and sweatpants from the race you lost last week The next morning you had another excuse as I washed the windows from the outside looking in at you The earthquake that afternoon barely shook the glamour photo you kept of yourself on the mantle in the bedroom There were already too many of you here to keep track of; either your ego or I had to leave or we'd all be dead by morning I began talking to the lobster instead, quietly at first, then loudly, wondering how many incarnations we saw of you that year in your room full of mousetraps and half-eaten takeout as we awaited word if you'd eat today or be eaten You watched the whale
struggle in your net getting more tangled as it frantically spun out You had a Bowie knife afraid to use for fear of leaving evidence if you saved it; the blame of a savior wasn't for you A pristine quiet corpse is better than a scarred zombie moaning your name Awards with sharp edges Were burdensome So you watched That Thing struggle and sink as you blocked the sun and looked at the shore and gave the horrified onlookers a thumbs up trying to convince yourself you did the right thing I stuck my head out
occasionally so you could mock my hair color once more A box of wigs followed one more ridiculous than the next so you could keep misjudging facades for reality A sniper's rifle aimed day after day until one of us pulled the trigger and stopped hiding behind parapets, both bald and sunburnt In the quiet room
I wrote you Love letters And every stroke Thumped My head I told you You were wonderful And waited for A response Hoping to hear The door knob rattle And open with an envelope to give me 1000 paper cuts On the other side you dropped a tray of silverware letting the morgue staff in Celebrating my dismissal With tiny muffins And stale bread as you smoked a cigarette and stomped out the ashes I sat on your grave
reading and re-reading your epitaph: He loathed small dogs and big cats and nostalgia He liked unpolished rocks and peacocks and cremation Your Dachshund pulled on the leash trying to lead me away, looking at the sky noting it would rain soon I waited too long and it poured in a matter of minutes, and the cotton candy I left dissolved instantly The first step back led me to fall into my own dark hole looking up to see the parade of people misremember me too when I stopped being able to move |
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