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?

Fine

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