An Ode to Drunkenness and Other Criminal Activities

How much easier it would have been if you had simply
disappeared instead of becoming frozen inside the magnolia.
There is formaldehyde, there is a brisket for dinner.
You might be sated. You help yourself to your neighbor's
lilacs, iris, peonies, and later, the Sunday New York Times
shivering in its blue bag on their lawn.

These small acts, the cat whose back you snapped,
saw it flip and twist in your rearview mirror, it was dark,
it was raining, it was too late for you to stop or get help.
Sometimes it is a crime and sometimes it is a crime to love
your husband's brother. His story, the wine, the sad fumbling
of clothes. The trick is to remember everything.

There is a cupboard of broken-spined animals
and faithful amusements in the context of muscle,
of fat, and even in this soap opera the maid has bad
teeth and wants to sing. She serves you faithfully
but can never be as beautiful, an eye opening only
to itself. You are a nervous girl, plucking on your hem.
You put it in your mouth, you put everything
in your mouth.

Copyright © 2008 Rebecca Loudon All rights reserved
from Elixir
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission