next
this is the kind of housekeeping
that scares a husband away
chattering teeth, bulging eyes, stiffening shoulder blades
dashing out for the calming effect of a mistress
and her tidy habitation
this is yours
you sleep with chaos
in your jungle of hoarded maladies
dust mobs the air
inconsiderate like the piles of disorder
that replace the floor
milk curdles in the swamp
onions pickle themselves dry
and the kitchen sink is never sober
if ghosts would claim exclusive rights
they might have to rummage through the inert
and loveless heart
you seem to forget
there is another pair of eyes
as delicately sore as a jilted wife
