Glass.
You say it as if
it’s perfectly normal
that all throughout the night you
rose hell with rants
and smashed wine glasses against the walls.
You say it as if
there might be remnants of your rage
silver, translucent slivers slithering
like a coily camouflaged fer de lance poised to
lash out
at me,
and strike my bloody feet with razor-blade venom.
You say it as if
you didn’t, as I know you did
make your sponge gather every last crummy shard
on his knees all night long
slaving at the delicate task
You say it as if
it’s perfectly normal,
that all this was over
...just a C+ in math class.

C+.
You screamed it as if,
it had cut through your value
not gradually like a saw
nor progressively like a scissor,
but sharp and shrieking
like glass.
You screamed it as if
it was not just one quarter grade
but rather representative
of my full worth as a human being.
You screamed it as if
your dreams had been shattered
as if my mathematical perfection was all that mattered
You Screamed.
You Clattered.
You Screamed.
First with your shrill vocal chords
then with close-minded slamming of all the house’s doors
then with childish banging of pots and pans
then with lucid smashing of the glasses you sip from,
followed by chinking of the shards you fashioned.
And finally, although I did not hear it so well
you clattered with a steady pitter patter
of raindrops glistening their way down to
Your banks.
The Delta.
The Mouth
that does not scream any longer,
but rather forewarns me of glass,
as if it magically appeared last night where I am walking now.
The Mouth
that is lipsticked,
decorated elegantly as a swan betrayed
by stab wounds from territorial battles.
The Mouth that leads a double life.