POOL 

a journal of poetry

ANNA LEWIS

silverware undone

fork avoiding     myself comfortably
since I've seen the flesh of a prong
a division sincerely in the depth of drawers
when silverware     stored away

I had a tea set, table placements,
the innocence of plastic invited
alone. girls play domestic tea
but the liquid     brings man and woman to

"this isn't funny anymore"
like he'd bit the pulp of it
"I know" metallic sorries. the next shower
a dirty one hits the floor,     in the clean clean clang up of things