i planted sweet viburnum in spring
...let me think... that was two years, three
months and one week
to the day
after you hit your head on that
rock when you thought it
would be smart
to dive into that
river
that turns out was just a brook, after all
and now we’re both in mutual isolation
here in this marble tomb
“It’s a tomb of death”, you interject, as if I hadn’t quite yet realized where we were
“Oh, you think?” I sighed. “And this is my poem. Don’t interrupt.”
“It’s not much of a poem,” you point out
I clear my throat in protest,
…and now were both isolated
Here in this marble tomb
Here in this casement of condemnation!
“Casement of condemnation ?!?”
You laugh out loud and smirk
“Is that near the doorjamb of despair? Your poem doesn’t rhyme, and your use of punctuation is woefully inconsistent.”
I put down my quill (suppressing the impulse to bury it in your eye socket) and dig through
The picnic basket for two chicken curry salad sandwiches on whole grain bread cut in half on the diagonal and wrapped separately – yet neatly – in Cutrite™ waxed paper
And hand one to you
“I ordered a Gothic Tunafish Sandwich,” you insist
“You’ve got the wrong girl,” I mutter under my breath
“And the wrong sandwich,” you persist. “How many more words you need to end this sad charade?”
I count them up silently. “Just one.”
"Which is?"
"Velvet."
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