why are you mad?
because i just snorted all the
whiskey?
i should be the one
throwing things
around.
my eyes sting
sinuses flame
and my face
is rubbed
dry red
from the sticky
kitchen counter.
c'mon now
its like one of those cooking shows
where we methylphenidate fidget
aside each other with
instructions and anecdotes.
maybe i'm not supposed to
show up high on vicodin
but you're certainly not supposed to
lose your shit and
spill all the booze.
let's be civilized here.
we're both hungry.
the oven's still warm.
we can still make something
of your
pink high heels
and apron.
finish your cigarette,
head tilted up,
staring down cross at me.
the refrigerator hums,
i'll look back,
content,
a high buzz
shaking
the dust free from
my appetite.
