Paper on the ceiling crinkles like a badly-rolled cigarette
the souvenir arrow pierces hangers speared across a wounded wall.
You say in the next rainstorm it’ll
all come down in plaster, shingles, wet tree limbs
I say let it fall.
The Siamese claws the sofa back
face and paws soiling decade-old drapes
window screens edge-torn from attempted escapes
but the air pushes through the juniper perfume.
You say one more rainy winter
the ceiling, the drapes will be as one and sodden on the floor
I say, do you like the blue or green? What color will we paint this room?
We put up your first, our first, Christmas tree
you wandering the drugstore aisles
demented elf, a happy child with credit cards
buying gilt and glitter in plastic-faced boxes
cartoon characters of frosted glass and trademarks
tiny lights gleam from sweet pine branches
I say the cat will pull it down.
You say, he may, he may not though
it’s awfully nice to have a tree around.
I met you in a dream that did not wake
or was it only in my heart
I’ve wondered if I’m real to you at all
or just a breath from real life’s dream.
You say (taking off your shirt)
“You’ll forget me in a week” looking just the opposite in fact
I watch you, weigh Truth carefully
let it fall.