bordentown

put a loupe to your litany, auntie,
buckshot over the china shop: bull.
my hands itch to halve each titanium crutch
on the flaked knob of my grandfather's knee.

lizzie, you must be here somewhere,
licking your translucent cleaver.
the same gray cat warbles on all
the brown couches. blistered jesters
stalactite from the eaves.