The day after my purchase
the patio table explodes a loose bolt.
I watch it roll free over uneven pavers
to hide under planters too heavy to lift.
My brain is a bolt self-screwed into high heavens
that wobbles and skitters to hide from the shadows
that watch a nut clatter from table to paver
to join that gone bolt in a place I can’t reach.
The tabletop lists as my hopes for fine dining
in summer invert and sink down to their doom.
A table leg parts for a better time dancing
away from this crisis I bought for ten dollars
I know will end up in the trash.
published in February 2023 Issue 83 Spread, republished on MuddyUm
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