What is left after the groceries are put away?
Dishes on the drying rack, nothing to clean:
all is as it should be, or so they say.
My darling, tomorrow is recycling day!
Let us do our part. There’s much I mean
to do after the groceries are put away!
Even death comes with chores: one day
we’ll buy for the other what flowers remain,
which is as it should be, or so they say.
My darling, don’t be sad. Hold this bouquet
to your breast. There’s much to grieve; I’m keen
to make love after the groceries are put away!
You would be so warm to touch. It is with dismay
I admit I can’t have you, the gap between dream
and nightmare—which is as it should be, or so they say.
With what little time remains, we must disobey
the voices of reason, the calls to action, which scream
that we find peace in putting the groceries away:
nothing is as it should be, no matter what they say.
