This tray looks like one in my grandmother’s breakfront. We have so much stuff on the walls. Only forty dollars for hammered brass. Get it if you love it. The owner imports all his merchandise from Turkey. It looks good over the sofa. It could fall and hit the baby. How about over the piano. The pattern looks like a flower. It’s starting to turn brownish. Who has time to polish I barely have time to floss. That’s the problem with stuff it needs upkeep. What about your collection of beer clocks. At least they have symbolic value. You make binge drinking sound poetic. You make hoarding an art form. We need more color over the piano. Move the tray to the bedroom. It won’t go with the Shaker dresser. Who says everything needs to “go.” It’s too ethnic looking. I thought that’s what you liked about it. I have a right to change my mind. We can use it to slide down the hill when it snows. You think you’re funny. I’m just saying. Put it on the top shelf please I can’t reach. There’s no room our winter stuff is up there. Google the number for Salvation Army. When they come for the tray give them the merry-go-round horse your college roommate left. Wait stop the car. Do you need a bathroom. I never pass up an antique mall. We’ll be late for brunch with your sister. Ten minutes max. Fine you’re the one she’ll be pissed at. This bowl looks like one in my grandmother’s breakfront.
- Post author:Coe Review
- Post published:September 16, 2014
- Post category:Fall 2011 / Poetry / Poetry 2011 / Print Archives / Volume 42
- Reading time:2 mins read