While You Were Out

[lnhammer]

The kitchen's clean tonight,
The counter scrubbed, the dishes put away
Inside the cupboard. I vacuumed all the floors
As well; and there the old newspapers wait,
Bundled inside the recycler, out on the curb.
And see, upon the bed, the laundry's warm
Only waiting for me to fold it up
Or hang it as the case may be on hangers
That rattle empty on the closet rod
For the delayed return of their clothes.
Yet the pile does not disguise your absence,
But like the freshness of this pillow case
Reminds me by its poor approximation
Just what it is I miss.

Someone said long ago
That all our poetry and palaces
And even telescopes are just Man's plumage
Created to impress a Woman. Perhaps.
All I see here is a vague and nervous ache
Transformed into neurotic acts.

There might seem a faith
Of sorts in all of this, that you'll return
Tomorrow as your boarding pass had promised.
But this far late at night, I darn your socks
Drawn round my kneeshore like a holey sea
As a sort of lonely cosmic last resort
That I forget, and not remember, you.

My love, I hope that you come back
For here, where all appears to be in place,
The books reshelved in subject/author order,
Dead pens thrown out, the paperclips unchained,
Is total chaos, needing the touch of your hand
Inside of mine; I should be holding you
Beside the dresser in this dawning room
While mindless dust is settling in the light.

—17 January 1996

I think this parody belongs in the trunk.

---L.