Vomit

By D.S. Maolalai

Life like a crisp packet
dropped into a fire,
shrinking and crumbling; dying
and not burning; curling
on hot coals. I sip tea
 
in the morning on the kitchen floor
and stare at chairs
which last night we toppled;
flowers and trampled grass-stems
in a meadow of loose cows. I sip my tea
and in the sitting room, in her sleep,
Chrys turns over.
She snorts and touches the dog.
 
Stinging vomit
stinks on the bedroom carpet,
staining things yellow
with peanuts and pieces of onion.
Last night, a party
you’d want to remember,
and then we slept in the sitting room
since approximately 2 a.m.
I sip my tea and think
 
about picking things up.
Can’t face them. All shame. Chrys
has the clean comforter. She deserves it.
And outside
mushrooms are coming up.

 
 
 


D.S. Maolalai has been nominated four times for Best of the Net and twice for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections: Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden (Encircle Press, 2016) and Sad Havoc Among the Birds (Turas Press, 2019).

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