some cleaning's in order
but don't go overboard.
You've got to sweep
the cobwebs just enough.
If it's spotless
you're a serial killer.
Make it look lived-in
though lately
you're surviving.
Make it seem normal
though no one after 30
knows exactly what that is.
Sweep, but leave a few dust lines.
Wash that pile of dishes
but not the French press
like you made coffee this morning.
Show her that you function
on a daily, healthy basis.
The ashtray's always empty
since you hate that you smoke
inside at night
when you're sipping wine
and typing
with a box fan in the window
so don't worry about that.
Think of Hemingway;
the wars he was blown up in
and watched from the sidelines.
Remember how it happened in Spain.
Your friends would urge you
to toss the tablecloth.
Ignore them.
It's been there for you
through too many nights.
The burn holes only add character.
Under the influence of estrogen
clinging to clarity
and notes that you've saved
acknowledge the fact
that you've checked three times over:
There is no change
for the high altitude recipe.
Scratch your trigger finger
on a nightcap
and suck down the rest.
That dead fly you found
in the bottom of the fridge
has never heard of a husband stitch.
It's grateful.
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