wiping grot and oily grime from
cobwebbed garage shelves, now mine,
I tamp down irritation at the time
it takes to clean another house. “it’s fine.”
my old house was scrubbed spotless. no token left
behind, nodding at our decade there. no broken
things, no artifacts, no remnants. all was taken
clean away. I felt an obligation, though unspoken,
to erase all traces of myself, and so I did, at length.
but in this new place, there’s a story in the dank
and mildewed corners, and taped to a crumbling plank—
“have a good one. you are my strength.”
Damn you, supercheap Groupon for eyelash extensions. You promised me a flirty new set for $35. Instead, you made me look ridiculous, and for what? The unforgivable crime of coveting ladylids? And when I told the girl that I did NOT want to look like Tammy Faye Bakker, and she said “Who?”, I bet you laughed, didn’t you, Groupon? And when the girl held up a mirror and I opened my eyes after an hour of being tortured by her Tweezers of Fire, instantly perforating the skin under my eyebrows in a hundred tiny pinpricks of blood, it was no more than I deserved, right, Groupon? And when I said, “Oh, I look like Mr. Snuffleupagus,” and the girl said “Who?”, that was your moment of victory, wasn’t it, Groupon? WASN’T IT?
But the last laugh is on you, Groupon, because I have a half-price coupon for refills.