Set the Table

they never put napkins on their laps,
expecting pretzels to unfold
under miniskirts.
they never care if salt shakers tip,
never bother to ask, why so
superstitious?

“don’t look over your shoulder.”

at least, that’s what they told her.

I sat down,
expecting a chair under me
without even looking.

what worries me now
is what’s in-between

us;

table-top horror stories.
I dare not look underneath.
I dare not look underneath.
I dare not ever let you know of those feelings–

that bubblegum.

flavour faded…
choose to be
gnawed to leave.
chewed and spit out,
it’s all stuck
in my memory
and I have made it an excuse— I’m sorry.

I try to distract, even myself, with flowers on a doily
yet the finest China looks like a shitty place-setting.
I don’t expect you to understand
but just respect that I have no idea what I’m doing…
so this time around, will you set the table for me?

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About Robyn

"If you haven't known insanity, you haven't lived."
This entry was posted in Life, Recovery (USA) and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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