Monday December 2, 2013
from graffiti on College Street
It’s no fun when you come home with a chainsaw. “It was on sale,” you say, like that makes any difference. I know what you’re going to do. I read your testament. I found it in the oven this morning. Maybe you meant to roast it, like turnips, but you forgot to turn the dial to three hundred and fifty degrees. You’re going to saw each beam, each post, each wall. You’re going to do it when I’m out in the barn, feeding the pigs. I’ll look out the barn window, the sun rising crimson, and I’ll see the house fall, with you in it.