He planted daffodils, tea roses, peonies,
morning glories to climb higher deities—
bricks, along the fence,
surrounding the pole near begonias, the shed.
I sit on a bag of Miracle-Gro
stuck between canna stalks and calla lilies,
hear a woodpecker on a Smith Corona,
go back inside to grab a cold cola:
Oh Judge Judy, you brown-eyed Athena
of cable television,
if I handed over energy bills,
birthday cards, wireless receipts,
how I listened for the echo of his boots
from the carport to the kitchen floor,
toilet seat mysteriously
turned up every other day of the week,
never sure when he’d make it home,
my Cupid, a jingle on a cellphone.
Would you tell me not to unravel?
Assign two years of community service,
send me on a quest to knock off dragons,
help dull the argument sawing my head?
Judy, give me more than a rap from your gavel,
the should’s or shouldn’t’s, freaking endless.