"A (wo)man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of (her)his life in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of beautiful God has implanted in the human soul."- Goethe

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Poem of the Week

The following is a prose poem I wrote. The most frequent question I get about it is if the guy in the poem is my husband or somebody else I know. Heavens! If Kirk were like him in any way, I wouldn't have married him! While I know some men like the character in the poem, never in such an extreme, this poem isn't about any individual specifically.

Perfect Match

He has a habit of drop-kicking neighborhood cats when he gets home from work with his tool belt in flames. I’ve learned to ignore the flying felines even though my first pet was a cat. When he comes back inside, his tools turning to ash in his hands, I know the rule: food first. So I quietly spoon out his meal and wait for his plate to empty. Then I can talk, but only one thing: “Do you want more?” Grunt means yes. I don’t know what sound he makes for no because he’s never turned down seconds from me before. After, he gets up and takes a shower, which puts out the flames and steams the whole house. I stay downstairs and take another extinguisher from under the stairs and spray down the kitchen chairs and table. I clean up the dishes, wipe down the walls, and gather the singed cats. Then I write “extinguishers” on the shopping list on the fridge with the remaining bits of charcoal.

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