on the day of execution

it was morning and I was in bed;
I’d already slept for days when I
heard a knock on the door.
I ignored it
I just laid on my stomach wrapped
in our purple plush blanket;
I’d heard the running of water
but had ignored that too.
(not a drip, but a steady flow from
upstairs).
I finally yelled, “COME IN!”
and a couple of men rushed
through the door
and then in and out all day long;
the hallway was flooded but I
slept through the noise
and the workers and the flood
and the moving of the apt’s things.

I slept all through the day and
through the raucous of our home.

then, in the late afternoon,
when I was still in our bed 
another knock fluttered my eyes, 
they pounded like someone’s life 
depended on me, a man dying
in his purple plush blanket. “WHAT!?”

it was the landlord, not the
workers: “hey your wife’s moving out, 
I didn’t know if you knew that or not.”

I did not.

“I need you to sign this paper 
because you don’t qualify alone.”

yes, I am certain of that.  

I rolled over and signed the paper
and then went back asleep.

2 thoughts on “on the day of execution

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