From A Poisoned Position
There is a poison gas in the main frame, he says,
I believe you have the ability to fix such things.
I ponder private solutions, like a woman scrubbing
black mold with clorox, or her lipstick stain that smeared
a favorite blouse, all because she kissed a man.
Secretly I believe he is fanatical, pointing here and there,
finding poison in the most passionate places, and in the sacred
purity of freshly baked bread, yes, he is out of his head
with suspicions, with an invalid determination, to discover
all the worse aspects in the best of things.
I am obliging and often kind, so I scan the flour bin and the bed.
I nail devil detectors to the wall and point proudly,
but he not appeased, and sniffs the air, as happy as a hound,
satisfied he has found misery in a house that is very sound,
idealistic in the pursuit of illogical things, and always that comment
about poisonous gas in the main frame.
I clamber into the attic where the dust gags my reaction, and ask
for evidence, some small proof of some thing that he may
have found, that wrecks his peace, and I stand on the roof,
which is not my best posture, and seems like shaky ground.
Yet, he is still pointing out, the opportunities of deception.
The way my allergies prevent a sure nasal detection.
The way my mind works oddly and may miss a big part
of this main frame poisonous affliction, that has settled hard
in the core of our position, until I just stop listening.
I take the opportunity while he is in town,
to kerosene the premises, and burn the house down.
Causes Phibby Venable Supports
Child Abuse, Violence Against Women, Elderly Abuse, Animal Rescue, and the
Virginia Water Project. (norfolk)