Your Oak Based Desk Shattered

By Kendall Aufmuth


because you came
home falling down drunk
     
a tremendous crash as a printer
shatters on your carpeted floor
     
things that were on the desk have
gone every which-a-way--
an array of books, a stack of papers
you had typed that morning in a dazed
and confused state, the pens and pencils, 
a desk lamp trying to bring
you out of the darkness, everything you
hide behind your fixed mask
     
You sprawl face-down on your bed,
manage to move--and smash your
fist against the headboard, 
knuckles cut and bleeding
     
you shouldn't remember anything,
it’d just send you to another shot,
but you think, "It was all my fault"
pushing you back to
saying "**** you, ****, A-S-S-H-O-L-E"
then you marvel that you can
spell in this state
     
on your back you reach for the pill  
bottle, spilling the meds all over your
face, popping them down your throat,
tossing the letter you wrote
across the room--
     
you let out a sob and black out
entering a 18 hour pill
induced sleep
     
when you wake from this stupor
you will remember nothing--wondering why
the hydrocodones are splattered
on the floor, what happened
to the desk’s neatness
     
you admit to yourself that
much more than a desk
has shattered this time