The table fell first

Then the fridge the tv the deep fat fryer the Christmas cards

The phone line was dead

And the house followed

In the wreckage a broken sideboard used as a chair

I rearrange the corpses and play let's pretend

I engage them in a survey— questions like Jack

quick and nimble, nimble and quick

If you draw lips on an egg, is it suddenly your sweetheart?

If I brought you up to respect curfews, would you cut me some slack?

Are you a suave reflection of a bad man walking backwards?

At the edge of a scream is there no turning back?

Oh how singing in silence can bring on appendicitis

But they don't know because they refuse to join me in the wreckage


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