My steamer died
I’m so depressed
I have to wear a wrinkled dress

My dog wakes herself with a fart,
eyes filled with accusation
that I had played a nasty trick,
her glare cold, convinced.

I think last night I caught a glimpse into your soul
in the same, unlucky way strangers catch a glimpse
of you through the gaps in the doors of public
restrooms in America.

How did I win this privilege
you all bent on my chest?
As windows watch us breathless,
your text might know the rest.

so you’re really gonna play with a poet
and then act surprised when you get poem-ed about?
darling, don’t be delusional