Who knows what firestorm in the cosmos loosed that globe
to come tumblingcrashingshattering all over
the kitchen continent?
Unlikely – I have been, alas,
far too good of late to arouse ire,
human or spectral.
More likely a jerryrigged screw and washer combo
that didn’t mesh properly,
shaken just enough by the waves from the highway
to slip over time and free the glass
to become a frosted projectile poised directly over
one of the cadetblue folding chairs.
Unearthly smash of glass on metal,
scattered serrated shards from one corner to another,
false metal pieces hiding behind the stove,
cowering abjectly from the dustpan Amazon who,
robed in tattered blue terrycloth,
was stunned from middle-of-the-night meandering
into startled awareness that it could have been
her head under that globe,
torn and bleeding – unconscious, perhaps for hours –
even, maybe, dead.
But that’s not how it worked –
Your betrayal loosed an emotional firestorm as well,
but still I laugh and lounge and linger and lust
as I wonder at the perfidious permutations of physics and the heart.
© 2012 RC deWinter
A comparison of physical and emotional distress.