the avocado stove
sitting cold, unused
in my grandparents’ home
plastic stained glass
baby jesus on the mantle
the smell of drying laundry
bleach, and old age
soggy breakfast cereal
and corner store milk
static sending signals from
the tv.
sugar saturated, eyes like an insect
sunday morning cartoons bouncing
on the turquoise carpet.
outside a lonely streetlamp ponders
the cars parked like ghosts
the desert of whispers
the aftermath, the fallout
the slow crunch underfoot
sounds stopped short by silence
humming
reverberating off nothing
buildings separated like sculptures
a blank wall where one should connect
the poignance of emptiness
the satisfaction of regret.