Plastic as thick and slick as the lies
My uncle tells, and as sticky and uncomfortable
In the room we cannot touch.
Dust perfumed air and drawn shutters and
A couch too large to be.
It holds its breath, the tag hidden in its ribs
In case its belonging is impermanent.
The plastic is intact, the couch innocent
It must want to be touched and used,
to fulfill its purpose.
Her watchful eye is blind and
I move in that space until I am in the room.
I want only to caress the slippery wholeness,
But I soil it
And it comes undone.
I am made in its unmaking,
And I find places that will not be seen:
Carving my name,
Leaving my blood–
They come to take it but it is ruined.
Cannot be sold.
It is filled to bursting with my secrets
And will be mine always.
And I think to sit properly
But instead it burns alone in the yard
Eyes accusing me,
Ruined plastic still glued to its melting skin.
Fire laps greedily at its skin
and at last it knows warmth.
She knows what I have done,
for she makes me watch.
It is behind her now and she lays at my feet
Matches and lesson:
Burn the broken useless things.