A skunk! a woman shrieks, and
the dinner tables drain, patrons
running for refuge, and we watch it,
black and white and unassuming,
weaving through ornamental chairs,
and I think how perfect, because
loving you has always been this,
swallowing glass shards in the midst
of some farce, surrounding –
Remember, the dinner
where we aired our wounds,
raw flesh in saltwater, and
feliz cumpleaños a ti, another
shower of sparklers, just like us
to tear each other apart
on everybody ever’s birthday.
And, me, I am the animal jawbone
resting atop your bedroom dresser,
keeping the company of hair ties
and receipts, crumpled up,
sexual liberation another lazy prison,
so novel, watching some man want and
want and leave me wanting,
kings and cowards on patio furniture,
reminiscing on when it wasn’t good
while it isn’t good and raising a
glass to it all –
I choke back tears while you
order dessert, replay the reel,
and what a fucking show, what
a lazy, uninspired ending.
Earlier I said
writers rooms need to know
no one wants to be surprised
in the finale, and
thank god for skunks and sparks
because you tore me
and my silly theories to shreds.
michael king 