Room for Two

Shotglasses shudder
on knicknack shelves,
lined dutifully like teddy
and his pliant friends gone by--
it was theirs when the paint was pink.

It is now white,
beneath the powder burns;
black kisses puckered in half-dozens
to the door.

and one to grow on

The room was hers
and the rabbits were hers too;
salted they went down uneasily
(like she did)
and the skins came out coarse.

Wear them anyway,

wear them out,

where am I going

say the signs on the walls,
once kitten-posters and
flowers pressed in suffocant glass.
Kissing children on the tawdry shelves.
They were all underage, you know
(how's that for a Precious Moment)
and she might have been too.
He never bothered asking.
It was never about words.

It was about the rabbits.

The rags are all on the ceiling now,
the brushwork he loves best making
popcorn spackles shady
under spread legs--
she always obeyed gravity
though defiance was his Flavor of Choice.
At least these bunnies do what he wants.

And they like it 'cause the room was hers

Shotglasses shudder quietly,
shy in open spaces
(they shared closet space with the
lustbunnies last week)
and waiting to be six-shot down--
'that's twelve bullets and a reload'
he used to say--
and she would laugh.

He would never take aim
on his glass rabbits.

AKL 2007