as she got up to leave the room she
said Just leave it alone
she was referring to the couch
where she spent the night so she wouldnt disturb his sleep – he wasnt sleeping
well -- and he wouldnt disturb hers
I dont know why why it is you
just cant leave anything be
he called down the hall after her
raising his voice so she would hear him as she went to the bathroom
I dont leave anything alone
the bathroom door shut cutting
him off leaving him high and dry or perhaps she thought
her walking out on him didnt end
his diatribe or explanation
why would it
if she didnt want to stick around
to hear it that was on her head
he didnt balk or back off
he was gonna get it out into the
wide blue aether where it could disperse like smoke in the wind
he expelled it so it wouldnt
acclimate to his body it wouldnt fester in obscure corners or teardrop tears too
minute to see
toxic
keeping that shit inside was
begging for trouble
if there was one thing he wouldnt
tolerate offer a toehold or desperate scintilla of sympathy
it was stress
stress was the murderer of the
Rue Morgue was Jekylls slovenly Hyde it was a snub-nosed barrel of a .38 in
ones mouth so they didnt gag a heaping
handful of pills a freshly-stropped
straight razor to slash up ones arm or across their throat
stress was suicide
and he wasnt inviting his to stay
stress is what one does to
themselves then tries to accuse others for their predicament
a crock of shit
he was amazed when people tried
finger others make excuses for
themselves
he dropped his like a
hot smelly turd and buried it like a dog
he said after her I dont leave
anything alone
I dont leave anything alone under
the auspice or supposition that if you leave anything alone it remains left
alone neglected unmaintained
It degrades
You see that in infrastructure
It aint like a mote in the eye
It glares back at you
Smacks you in the face
You see it in education roads
railroads slums in ones disregard for their health and teeth
You wanna cry Leave it alone
Turn it on yourself
Youve switched up your art
You havent touched your acrylics
or watercolours or oils
Youve committed to computer
graphics
Your studio we share as our diningroom is heaped at the edges disorganised Unfinished
canvases lean on canvases planks of wood sheaves of paper and month after month
you say youll get after it
clean
it up
But you leave it alone
Its not my mess to arrange
but its impels me to make sure in the meantime no small mess will furthur
encroach on our space
But more importantly my space
My space can be
stacked clean edges exposed and not look like disarray
Aint nothing slopping or slipping
onto the floor or needs to be moved place to place to vacuum or dust
No
I wont leave a damn thing alone
if I have my way
he picked up and folded the
blanket and flatsheet and returned them to the bedroom where they kept them in a
mothballed steamer trunk
he grabbed the pillows and
returned them to the head of their bed
he returned the back cushions to
the couch laid the Mexican blanket across them
the blanket set off and accented the colours of the art hanging on their
walls
she came out of the bathroom
Gosh
all cleaned up Thank you But you could
have left it for me to do
I think you got plenty to do
I do
she nodded absently sat on the
couch looked into her cellfone and sipped her coffee Blah
Its cold
Would you like a reheat she asked
Nah No thanks babe
I got something to write
1230, Monday, 4th of July
