The Hammer
.
We snap when unpacking boxes.
Your poor organization of spoons sets it off.
Now, I’m the boss. See: My ideal position
of rugs in accordance with the floorboards.
The dog’s bowls, which lower shelf
in the cupboard screams perfect for kibble.
The layout of art on the walls, silhouettes
cut from cardboard and taped in just so.
I want to be normal. Less interested
in control. But I come home to an unkept house,
cursing you over and over. In secret
throwing away items you (for reasons
you haven’t had a chance to explain)
chose to caravan from Detroit to Chicago
to LA. I’m guiltless, counting each time
I’ve seen you forget. Reasoning:
You haven’t noticed by now, so…Still,
I stand pensive, carving out the bottom
left corner of the medicine cabinet,
selecting the perfect spot for shaving creams.
Leaving tasks for you to pick up when you
read the room. Expecting you will do this
poorly. Suddenly I can’t tell if I love you
for this, or despite it. I know in the moment
we lose each other. You’re so free from the laws
of things. I’m kept stirring over the precision
needed to hang the purple wooden lizard.
He clashes if he’s not hung properly. So,
I always hang him the same way.
I’m so boring. If I passed you the hammer,
what would you do with it?
Show me what you’d do with it.
