by Maureen McElroy
Oxy-Moron
I love you bitterly,
tooth and nail.
The taste of you
is aspirin on my tongue.
Narco-leptic lover,
walk away again
and I may have to beg,
regurgitate “I love you.”
Your embrace
is shock treatment.
I forget razor-blade Monday,
waiting for your train,
the pain of empty doorways,
burnt-out candles.
Can we rehabilitate this mess?
Your smile, so sickly sweet,
it knocks me out
like chloroform.
When You Were Gone
a pigeon died on the windowsill.
I plucked its pure white feathers
and pushed it down.
Someone called “Juanita” from the street.
Black beans burned
the smoke alarm.
When you were gone
I bumped into furniture,
vacuumed red ants
crawling from the radiator,
and dreamt of a baby packaged in styrofoam.
In the laundryroom,
a Brazilian man
stared at my legs in liquid tights.
I offered him a straw.
It All Ended in the Kitchen
you pulling skin off a chicken –
I knew you wouldn’t be fertilizing
my eggs.
It’s a shame, baby,
cause you shook my world,
rocked me like a mix master
with your doughboy cuteness
that went all soft
when I poked your middle.
What a crock!
This Arm & Hammer love
doesn’t do a goddamn thing
when the fridge stinks
and I’m banging on the icemaker
you gave me for Christmas,
red beet juice on my blouse,
and I say “Hey, help me,
I’ve hurt myself.”
But you don’t respond.
Just microwave
your potatoes,
wind up a chattering-teeth toy
that hops across the table
and falls to the floor.
We both bend.
You start to hug me,
but my stomach reels
cause it’s over
and I thought you were my savior,
but you can’t even walk on jello.
