I don’t understand why you chip away.
Are you life and I’m the edge of
an old brown drip glaze dinner plate?
This role of dishwasher wear and tear
you’re ceaselessly spinning: It erodes me.
It anything but drips me dry.
Or is it that I’m creamy onion dip
and a Lay is all you are? Cracked up
to get together, I’ll see you at the bar.
Please tell me, Love, before you eat me.
In advance of my shattering, ere
my slivers mangling your motor,
your warm, soapy water flooding over
my glossy skin, this lemon-fresh linoleum.