Après le Diner

[dredpiratebunny]

There is dust on the shelf
There is a slow letting down of the sun into the
under earth
that is someone else's
overland.
There is the gate to the garden,
rhythmically creaking in the dusk wind.

Gone, then, all the headlights of the cars
point towards home.
Still, then, so the hum of the refrigerator
overtakes again.
The crumbs on the floor
wooing out the tiny creatures of the dark.

The utensils in the sink have all been used.
The dishes lay in heaps of mockery
where dessert once was.

And I settle into the arms of it
with hands too filthy to dare.