Something moved, down on the floor,
as I sat staring at the t.v.
Marisella came in from the kitchen, holding something,
The t.v. went limp
trying to broadcast something
too late for working people
to be watching.
Marisella sat on the sofa.
Three days later and I haven’t moved,
staring at the place where the t.v.
used to be.
Marisella’s glass is still here too, somewhere
but Marisella is somewhere else too,
like the t.v.
I lift my left hand up above my head,
like the arthritis commercial,
and I let it drop.
I construct a poem:
The truth the truth the horrible truth
the horrible horrible truth, the truth
the truth the truth the beautiful truth
the beautiful beautiful truth, the truth.
I am so excited that I get an enormous hard-on
that rips right through my bathrobe and slaps me in my left eye.
My dick obscures my view, and I can’t see the place
where the t.v. used to be
in stereo vision.
Marisella comes home and starts crying.
I recite my poem for her over and over.