Manchester

The sun drips in like butterscotch
Through the sapphire-chipped window frames.
Cat litter is shoved in the carpet,
And small ants uncover the leftover tofu
Underneath the refrigerator.
On the futon,
He sits with one foot on the cat,
And the other on today's newspaper.
My fingers skim the remote,
Searching for something to watch.
In the room across from the kitchen,
She sleeps with her curvy
Scarlet hair
Wrapping around the freckles on her back,
While out in the living room
Our fingertips are carved around
Filters and cups of stale coffee.
Drops of liquid fall from the ceiling
From last night's storm
And hit the piano keys in my nephew's room.
I throw the remote at him
But he ignores my request.
He kicks the cat out of his space,
Rolls his cigarettes up his left white sleeve
On his shoulder,
Then shoves his wallet
In the back pocket of his Billy Joel jeans.
And as he's lacing up his black combat boots,
And as I'm tracing the lines of my hand,
He says
I'm leaving.
And when she woke,
Her mouth was stained plum,
And for the first time in a long time,
She smiled.