Maid

Maid

collect my ghosts off shelves
bury them in glycerin and clean me free
with a bar of soap or a napalm bomb
i’ve always been an extremist
for urban legends of nuclear families
for hands strong enough to catch the fall

how hard you grip my past and sponge it dry
how smock-like your smile
those latex gloves extra safety precautions
for a bleached jean Sunday, a moth-eaten afternoon
with picnics in the living room
my arsenal the size of childhood tent-castles

crawl inside with me
we’ll use His recliner as a turret
Tupperware bowl for our moat of tears
teddy bear soldiers to guard our monkey bar bridge
their missing eyes perfect excuses for the guillotine queen
to steals smokes in basements
curse dolphins tucked in sweatshirt pockets
hide kittens inside a restaurant’s picture frame

collect my ghosts off shelves:
keys that slip off rings before the battle of the trees
Barbie dolls for second floor brothers
scrapbooks with bloody thumbprints
and baskets without serpents
(they’re with the flute players at the ravine)

i’ll fill you up with m’s
mr. Merman, mr. Maid, not my mother
cup your hands and take these candies
these offerings a payment for your release
for a promise that choked the vine and cloaked the dust
my hood now up and ready, His shadow on my face


Copyrighted by Nathan Buck 2007