by Michelle Coleman
It never would have fit into the lift
You lugged it up the stairs with a big smile
Made love on soft cushions before your shift
I cooked (and burned) a pot-roast all the while
If you could love me any more I’d die
From the crush of numbered sweet embraces
And if I said I hate you now I’d lie
Your smile I see each day in two faces
And now one cushioned seat unoccupied
The seat that had the screw that’s always loose
Hoping you can see from there that I tried
Remember the joke you would always use?
Ducks put drinks on their bills, not on their tabs
I smile in my seat as your hand, mine grabs
