Empty your icebox into the fire And lean across the kitchen counter Take the cherries from the bowl And quietly, fade into the wallpaper. Past the clutter in the living room Skating the floor boards to the front door And without regretting the starving children In Ethiopia, who have never heard of You Throw those stones across your garden.

Stand hunched in your refrigerator Whip your cream into butter And spread yourself, this morning A fat line of grease, far across your business card Replace to the wallet in your palm. All the memories of long lost oysters Shells in the sink, because the neighbour's kid Has never been to the ocean Doesn’t mean you should share them.

I’ll put my lips to the window And breathe out over the glass And with my tongue rewrite this poem.

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