Finally cleaning the kitchen
more than a month after you’d gone
(little need for kitchens now;
you have no longer need for food and I
have grown indissoluble boulders
in my stomach)
more than a month since I last cooked for you
and pleaded with you to eat
(no use now for my barbecue:
you always loved to smell pork cooking though
and you had tried to eat it
insisting it was good and you
were just not hungry;
made with bottled Bull’s Eye Sauce—
the half-full jar still sitting on the counter
—explain to me how that can be;
that half a jar of barbecue sauce could outlast you
I found three cans of chicken noodle soup
your reliable of stanby
that i had bought for you on special—
three cans for a dollar—
and quite to my astonishment
felt tears of hot rage scalding me
at the thought
that you could go and leave me
with tree cans of soup
I don’t even like.
karenblenz