Monday, February 28, 2011


(Pre-Script: This poem smells fresh when read as the song, "Everybody's Changing," #14 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)

I have stopped carrying you.

Actually, I never carried you,

but you have never stopped

wanting me to, expecting it,

which is something like expecting

a banana to jump out of the fruit bowl and dance

on the crumb strewn kitchen counter.

With my hand,

I will wipe the counter clean,

so clean that

no one could know just by looking

that anyone

had ever made toast.

I'll use my cucumber scented kitchen spray

so that no one

could know just by smelling.


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