To Make Record Conform To Fact

The year we get divorced
I repaint the house a color
you dub Anniversary Stain.

Gummy begs to differ, of course,
cracks a six-pack & wonders
if I knew we had nut trees.

He’s been asking the same
question for eighteen years but
seems to need an answer.

Says he’s got a job
rehabbing a dinghy, he’s
just not sure where.

Then he shows me
his new shoes:  one’s got
laces & the other slips on.

You rarely sneezed,
but when you did
it was always three times.

Once for the tickle,
once for the drama,
once for the past.

Hey Gummy, you’re right,
I did, I cut down
the fucking nut trees.

Sorry for your pain.

 

 

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