Been working on this for a bit. Just getting to a first post…

ADAM AND EVE ON A RAFT, WRECK EM

The cup’s on the counter with
your lipstick on the rim.
Now the whole day’s shot to hell.
Woe and tumbled eyelashes swept aside, I sit down
at the edge of the counter. I used to kiss you
there, and there. I used to make you
easy there, and there. I was not
intact but I was complete and
the lipstick never stayed in one place on the
rim, it would be smeared over
again and again.

I’m not up to the job
of dealing with this.
Fire me, I’ll collect thoughts
for dole money.

I take a drink,
lipstick on the rim of my teeth,
you never used your teeth,
you always let me know
they were there, and now they are
not. I’m all tears and left hooks.
I’m counter
help in hell — short order joint, learning to wash the
dishes, make sure all the
stains are gone.

I’ll never hold this job.
I’m fired. I’m fired.
I’m history.
I’m gone.