the visit
i take a tarnished, greasy butter knife
wrap it taught and coarse in
the cheapest paper towels they had
for purchase at the dollar store
i scrape the corners and nooks of this place
unearthing frights of schmutz and gunk
that i would otherwise leave unmolested
if you weren’t coming to visit
empty plastic pints, glass fifths, rotgut vodka
stuffed away into bloated oversized black
garbage bags, screeching a terrible clank,
an indictment, when i set them on the curb
the vacuum is not working well, so i shake
the rugs, i spray bleach on the mildew colony
in the shower, between tiles, sweep up the
hair on the floor where i trimmed my beard
i am ashamed
i am not ashamed of how i live, so what, a
sock in the corner, balled up and old q-tips
hanging out by the toilet and the dishes stacked
for days in the sink, egg flakes soaking in brine
i am not ashamed, but it would pain me for
you to see this, and it was you, after all, who
taught me that life is about smoothing out the
smudges on the mirror in case the neighbors see
on my knees scrubbing i think back to the lake
house warm childhood summer barbecues
fish frys, water skis, whiffle balls, comic books
the hypnotic sound of waves lapping the shore
back in those sepia good old days, days before
that short time when we were all together
PIEFOLK 