We’ll lick the cream.
The beater’s engine’s warm.
I need
that picnic knife.
It holds an edge.
Its cracked handle
fits my grip.
Kitchen floor
a chess board upset,
I upend full grocery sacks
on accident.
Heaps more dishes
in a day
than table space—
make room, my heart
falters often
at the brim.
The life I choose
or life I’m given?
Rinse the dust
from the champagne coupes
and let the cat in.