the point came fast but it was too blunt to miss:
life handed us a paycheck, we said "we worked harder than this!!"
I have two readings in the next few weeks and don't know what I'm going to read. Probably drag out little red corvette (ie: the new like taking communion but without falling over and throwing microphones) and paintings of famous satanists (another new-school high-repetition favorite) and call it good. or maybe I'll try reaaaaal haaaaard and write some new things, fix some old things and make it "special."
at any rate, here's an old one that never got much play the first time around.
Dinner for One
She walks slow from oven to table
hands pressed firm against ceramic.
mits makeshifted from towels
someone once told her that you could
burn your fingerprints off
on simple kitchen appliances
she hung a "caution" sign above the stove
for anyone who might use it,
took the batteries out of the smoke detector.
a week later her tongs disappeared.
a few close calls with oven doors and apron strings,
untied hair and blender lids,
a few too many arm-burns on oven racks;
friends started telling her
she's got to be more careful.
she eats the pasta dispassionately,
roast with abandon,
half bottle of wine in.
a fork in one hand,
steaknife in the other,
gazing out the window
as she slices.