About My Neighbors, After A Trip

Brown floor cloaked. White flour
trail.
A leader.
A small fridge opens its wide mouth, letting me
greet its cold insides.
A rot banana.
Mucky carrots.
Luggage.

They showed up, under the door frame.
Two men drenched in
charcoal. Carrying meddling
Polaroid.

They captured broken glass,
dirt masking success,
frightened eyebrows.

My own eyes flashing back at them.
Flashing a peculiar
father who dragged my luggage
by his ankles.

The key shouldn’t have worked.
The key should have squawked in the door,
at my pink dress,
at my black heels. But, its entrance was
easy, mandatory.

When I got back to picture frames
and silence, I found
my products of life
in boxes
on a neighboring balcony.

My apologies, I said,
you shouldn’t have been bothered.

And they weren’t.
They would not be bothered
with white powdered jelly doughnuts
or
a girl,
with rotten umbilical cord
wrapped around
her neck in her dreams, every night.

The Loose Hurricane

That fool of a Hurricane came along
wearing her precious
golden wig

her bitch stamp

tempestuous temptress
twirling
spinning
violence through
internal bricks and boards

I am a carpenter
a blood sculptor
The Queen

my masterpiece
in matching
patterns
nailed to the walls

my precious dynasty
garnished with
parallel features
inside and
out

muscles and brawn
My King
mixed with this
destructive
maniacal
windstorm

she rushed him
in her
giant waves

into her vast Ocean
her wet white body

then ripped and yanked
at my prized
creation
jerking
wrenching
until defeat ambushed
her
from behind

she resigned

and I was left
with my masterpiece
to clear the clutter
the debris

watching the Ocean for the
return of
my King.