Matthea Harvey is the author of Pity the Bathtub Its Forced Embrace of the Human Form (Alice James Books, 2000).

Trouble in the Dyad

Though Ed said "You have my word
on it" as Diana ate her Ritz cracker,

there was something in the way
he said it. The shears choked on

the bonsai. Little maple, give us this –
one day without a weeping bout.

"Think!" he thought, irritated by
her ex-pensive ways. She had forgotten

that eventually skis get attached
to something unruly, like a person.

There they were, just going along
until Di started singing "won't you

be my one & lonely?" which is
of course when he spotted the pyramid.

Equation with Flowers

Tomorrow the pink shack will not be
in the cornfields where you left it.

I put all the rosemary in the salad.
When the sun sets, the Oreo truck

sometimes strays from its appointed
route with only the willows watching

& perhaps a horse. Clip clop –
where's the narrative? Somewhere

a frugivore is sitting on its perch
with juice matting its chin.

The meringues were already
cloud-palaces, we didn't need

the greasy telescope to mother-
of-pearl the sky. I can't write

haughty essays or join
Scotland Yard in its never-ending

search for some one-syllable gem
while there are still apples in the world.

Do you remember that itch.
Even a fraction of it.