sometimes I think I might stand up and walk to the kitchen. pick up each glass and watch them smash to the floor. break your plates, break your bowls, break all the vases. walk to the bathroom and drop all the porcelain. listen to the crash as our toothbrushes scatter. Stand there barefoot and say I had no idea what to do.

just to watch you say I can’t and then show me the door. watch you put me out, my mouth full of glass.

but maybe you would say I understand perfectly and we’ll sweep it tomorrow and put your hand to my mouth, like my mother, say it’s ok dear, come on, spit it out.