leave the mayonnaise out
overnight, blue lid flung
carelessly on a table of toast crumbs
I drip mustard on the white shirt
you washed just last night
and hung up in your corner of the closet
I drop cookies
in the bottom of the oven
let my cheese bubble over
the blue bowl, onto
the base of the microwave
I leave the water running
as I walk out of the room
talking on the phone
about the evils of technology
I turn your socks pink
I get loud when I am drunk
I get drunk when I am bored
I sing along to every song
that plays on the radio
and when you join in
I correct you on the lyrics
I take your boxers
and wear them as pajamas
I rumble incessantly
about women’s rights
and equality while insisting
I do not know
how to work the VCR
I put your Sinatra CD in my
Alanis case, and when I’m done
with Alanis I leave
Sinatra teetering on top the TV
I spill my pizza
tip my soda
and break the bottle of Hennessey
on the back porch, but
you do not yell
or lecture, only
sweep shards of glass
across wet pavement and say
“Don’t cry over spilt Brandy.”
–Heather Dorn