The Fragility of the Mind
Scribble me an angel on the back of a napkin.
One I can hang on the fridge
reminding me to throw out
the month-old milk that sits there tempting
fate every morning when I pour the cornflakes.
Draw me a demon in the margins of last week’s newspaper.
One I can use to swat the flies that have been
trapped in the house since July and are living on
borrowed time and the crumbs on the kitchen counter.
One that doesn’t gnaw at the base of my skull.
Scrawl me a monster peeking out
of my closet, draped in stains from
red wine and armpit sweat – hindsight
held hostage by dust bunnies that haven’t kept
silent since the last owner lived here.