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The Microeconomics of Love


ISSUE:  Spring 2019

 

I put a poem
in your backup jewelry box,
the one you keep
at the bottom of the taxes from 2003
in order to foil the inevitable burglars,
no one is safe anymore,

and then I found a drawing of a lion
between my two best pairs of underwear,
and, Lord, he was a’roaring,

and so I put a poem in the tall ugly vase
you love for black-eyed Susans,
and then I found a drawing
in the secret zip pocket of my ratty softball bag,
and so I put a poem in your favorite green mitten,
stuffed in the thumb,
and then I found a drawing
in the cheese drawer,
wrapped around the cheddar I like,

and so I put a poem in your Austen,

and then I found a drawing of a wave and a bird
in my sunglasses case,
but I didn’t ask why a wave or a bird, I trust you,
and I didn’t ask where my sunglasses had gone,

and so I put a poem in your socket wrenches box,
and then I found a drawing in the sugar bowl,
and I’m the only one who takes sugar, one lump,

and so I went to the calendar
to put a reminder
to put a poem
in your grandmother’s teacup ten years from now,
but on that day there was already a note
to wrap a drawing around my toothbrush
ten years from now.

What’s a man in love to do?
I took down that family photo you never liked,
and I stashed our cellphones in the dead microwave,
and I collected the Olde Tyme knickknacks
and all of the mirrors
in a green garbage bag dragged to the curb,

and I threw the television into the neighbor’s yard,
and I threw the alarm clock into the other neighbor’s yard,
and I threw the toaster into the first neighbor’s yard,
to confuse that neighbor, since no one likes that neighbor,
and I flushed the cheap wine from our former friend,
and I burned the checkbook,

and then I made us some vittles,
and then I opened the windows
and I let the air out of every worry.

 

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