I have handled pieces and fragments
of my fiancé’s skull as I plucked
them from my driveway and tucked
them in the bushes, put to rest

I have scrubbed the last ****** gurgles
Of stomach bile from the room
That your father died in, and the linens
That comforted and held him as he went

I have cleaned elderly poopie trails
Off the polished wood floors
As they wind their way to the bathroom
Where gramps is stuck on the floor, again

Is it too much to ask
For a little help with
the ******* dishes?