Thunderstorms. Fireworks.
I’m in the spare bedroom/office.
Chrysty’s in a rotten bad mood.
she walks the apartment
like a donkey stable. kicks holes
out of drywall and violently
washes up plates. she’s told me
get out and I’ve gotten, that’s
fine. I haven’t done anything
(lest readers presume –
and it’s never uncharitable
to doubt a guy saying that) –
sometimes her mind just
goes to rags on uncomfortable
horses. she knows it; we both do.
it’s something with blood
sugar. some days she shakes
like her bones will break out
of the skin and deal violence
by chairlegs. the dog is in with me –
I drink coffee, play with her ears. we listen
to housework get half-
done like thunderstorms. fireworks,
new year’s midnight.
DS Maolalai has been described by one editor as “a cosmopolitan poet” and another as “prolific, bordering on incontinent”. His work has been nominated fourteen times for BOTN, eleven for the Pushcart and once for the Forward Prize, and released in three collections; “Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden” (Encircle Press, 2016), “Sad Havoc Among the Birds” (Turas Press, 2019) and “Noble Rot” (Turas Press, 2022)