Catching The Drift
by Karen Loeb
The man you love
did the laundry last night.
You go to get dressed in the morning
and most of your clothes are missing.
The ones he did bring back
have shrunk to the size of dollar bills.
You call the laundry.
A woman tells you a man with a beard
and a mole behind his left ear
and one where she couldn’t mention
asked the laundry to donate clothes
to Goodwill.
The description is that of your lover,
but it could be someone else.
Your clothes begin to surface
on the racks of Goodwill.
Your favorite jeans with the strawberry decal
are priced
higher than you paid for them.
A large dog with a traveling flea circus
is lying on your side of the bed.
You sleep on the edge of the mattress
and dream that Copernicus thought
the world was flat.
You draw a picture
and your pencil points keep breaking.
The pencils were presented
by your lover
after he sharpened them
especially for you.
You send the man you love a letter,
even though he lives in the same house.
It’s returned
rubber-stamped
with an inky finger pointing to the phrase
“Addressee Unknown.”
You buy back your jeans from Goodwill
and wear them like exhibit A
around the house.
He doesn’t seem to notice
and something is wrong with the zipper.
You die.
Your lover buys a marble plaque
that sits on the ground.
Everyone says how beautiful it is,
how much he must have loved her.
Weeks later
you are in your eternal nap
and you hear
brush-step, brush-step
click click
tap.
The dance shoes he ordered through the mail
have finally come.
The lessons he always talked about
have begun.