Rehab Didn't Work
When I quit scrubbing our snot-green stove
he bought me a brand new range to roam
and a refrigerator-freezer that stood side by side
closer than we ever did.
He painted the kitchen two shades of bland,
screamed when I pounded nails to hang a lovely shelf
where I displayed mugs with inspirational slogans,
that overflowed with unlearned life-lessons.
Together, we forced conversation, pressed
fake bricks and sticky floor tiles into thick adhesive.
Anger oozed; exhaustion consumed; bricks broke.
I left the last busted brick askew.
We remodeled, rehabbed, rearranged.
Then I washed my hands, snuffed
out the cinnamon scented candle,
and declared myself finished.