Meat Stain

January 15, 2010
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From here I see
the refrigerator left open,
as cold air escapes into the desert storm.
The crackle of the fire
from hitting the brick wall
like the break of a bat after hitting a ball.

The scraping of the sponge you use
to wash away the meat stain
on the half worn plate.
You play with the volume
on that new TV you bought,
the one you promised you’d put away.

I watch the sewer overflow
from the mud that’s shoved into the hole
from the river that scatters down the hill,
the one I used to roll down until my clothes were stained with green.

I wish you would see the damage you do
to those worn plates
that you squeeze into the cabinet
so they’re out of you way.

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