, , ,

i ask you if he’s okay

today, but you don’t answer and

just empties the coffee pot.  the periodic table

is written on the garage door and

the man in the fridge room is painting

over top of it.  His wife tries to

rub off her holocaust numbers and

teenage perfume.  I ask the painter

what he is trying to accomplish,

but he just calls his

wife a bitch.