Funnies
I make morning coffee,
you go up ahead
passing from panel to
panel to pee
in profile directly
overhead while I pour
purified water to the
twelve cup line,
our lazy streams splitting
the ripened
silence with the braided
sound of nickel
chain collecting coiled
in a metal bowl.
Darkness harries me
from room to room
nipping at my heel on
the staircase,
a line graph ascending
in a dry hinge
litany of old grievance. We retire
in a welter of
well-worn vignettes:
you fanning the pages
of a magazine
me sawing the bow of a
toothbrush
our bed, a crescent of
lamp light, luffing
curtains boxed up tidy
under the eaves,
waffled cross section
of floor and wall
blocking the coda of
our long running strip.
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