So what if my last words to you were something like “whose turn is it to wash the dishes?” — would you have regrets like too much sugar in your coffee or maybe always perhaps think about me when you were washing the dishes — like that’s a place to anchor a memory — or will you always argue with yourself about whether it was your turn or not — was it my last slimy red twist in your ear — you know the thing you hate most about dead memories — i tried on the tiara and couldn’t get it off so you gave me a wig for my birthday — what if I didn’t really tell you my real birth day? -- it’s things like this that make me want to spit up the curdled cream and toss the sugar over my shoulder — what if bad omens are just twisted memories like salt and pepper shakers — you know like when you forget which shaker is the pepper and you hate salt — did you ever wonder about that? — and i took you in when you were drunk but you forgot you promised me a trip to Paris — let’s go go got to go — did i tell you i hate Disneyland — that it’s Tigger and princess ****? — eep eep — so what if i didn’t — couldn’t you guess when i got so drunk i was so hung over that i slept in the hotel all day — it’s high time we got that straight iron out of the cupboard and burned that wig with the doctor’s prognosis — nothing like ice cream in the winter — but you couldn’t get up to get it and i wouldn’t stop the movie — it was sweet and sour when the bride ran away and i laughed but you were just about to ask for my hand — like a blood diamond has any interest ‘cause i still have holes in my hightop converse — paint under my fingernails — chemo blue orange wigs— wait, what if i forgot to wash the dishes and asked you so you wouldn’t be mad that i left you with a sink full of rot — i know i burned the turkey but it didn’t fit in the microwave and Leeloo taught me how to eat — you know: chicken! — so when you finally get a dishwasher don’t bother to invite me over anyway — besides the fact that i’m dead by that time there’s a lot more to breakfast than cereal and watching tv — but what about love? — there’s a lot more to dinner than meat and potatoes and a lot more to lunch than sandwiches and a half hour break from wage slavery — what if all i ever wanted was a ******’ piece of sourdough toast with my coffee but you were too busy to fix the toaster — and anyway it’s been harboring cockroaches for so long we might as well just invite Speedy Gonzalez to the table — the cats shed fleas like hair but at least they land on their feet — what if the dogs next door eat better than we do?— i hear that horse meat is sweet and PKD lived off of cans bought from the pet food store when he was writer poor — oh **** that’s a timeless thing isn’t it — and i’m a vegetarian but i may have to forego my principles before i’m discovered — what if the best part about dying is no more dishes? — that’s why i don’t want to get married
A Poem in the Style of Shelby Cook, Boxed With Dashes (Except Shorter) aka “what if for dinner” For more information about Shelby Cook, check out this blog post: http://www.dorendamico.com/poetrya-poem-in-the-style-of-shelby-ann-cook/