I’ve been saving this fight for
a less stressful day, keeping it
in my lower desk drawer,
choosing the best time. As you mist
the orchid blooming
by the bay window, you hum
some dreary song you like
that I loathe. Why not just admit
that “Crimson And Clover” is the greatest
record ever made? You’re difficult.
I’m not. I’m a toad hopping out
from behind a cinnamon fern beside
a Wisconsin lake. I pull the fight out
of the drawer. It’s about you constantly
cramming stuff on the counter.
Sometimes I scream. Maybe I’m a male
grown-up Gidget. I clean counters
when I could be on a beach.
What if I found an uncluttered Moondoggie?
Happy Valentine’s Day, love.
It’s off my chest. The drawer only holds
pens and old bank books now.
Be the sun.
Kiss me
like I’m a field full of milkweed.
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