Break, Dish, Hurt
Break, dish, hurt.
Gone, clipping the floor.
But it’s not until Wednesday when the garage truck arrives.
And the garage man brushes against it all.
I’m certain.
I think things break like that because of an invisible avalanche.
In my mind, it’s tumbling, and grumbling downhill.
The broom comes out later and everything is.
I wasn’t worried about another dish.
I’m not worried about the next one.
The garbage truck comes in two days anyway.
It’s like that dish just:
Learned about the floor a little too soon.
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