A Death Among the Dishes
The dying is obvious within the dishes
that have fainted in my kitchen sink.
His gravy is on the melmac.
I made him pot roast with no gristle
and he brought me Gallo
and a yellow rose.
I see him sinking beneath these bubbles
gasping, chest heaving, eyes desperate
like I was desperate.
And then we became impossible
like desert became impossible
like plates and silverware now become
a tribute to the impossibility of us.
Still, they need washing,
stains need wiping clean.
the shards of us last night need picking up.
I plunge my bleeding fingers deep in Joy.