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A Box too Thin
by Jada Yee Your voice, heavy cake in a box too thin. Please sing like birthdays should. The next time you promised is here. I know your diseased intoxication delays your worries and cares. I know your eyes fill then drown fast, still assuming this kitchen caters only to your footsteps. You piece of late arrival, do you even know that you’re late? Your arms have cradled me weakly, always finding an excuse as to why I could never be a pal, a girlfriend to the flawless you, always coming up with last minute errands before you could make time for your son. Once a year he’ll play along until you play a song, you know the one dressed like the you I knew before, before I became a Hooters cardboard cutout, before I had to listen for the rattling ice cubes, and pour before your blood began to boil. But, now I’m the one making demands because my son and I deserve more than a drunk stranger’s lullaby played on a guitar you swear you never stole. Save our ears from your excuses and those decorative lies on an expired cake. |
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