It isn't any consolation

[heirloomination]

It isn't any consolation
that before I left I smashed that vase on the piano.
The one I always hated
because of it's orange and pink color.

A tacky combination.

I took that portrait that hung
in the living room; we had it painted
by that poor man by the river and
I tried to give him forty dollars but you would not

let me pay.

You were always cheap- you only gave him twenty.
That portrait I burned,
on the floor of the concrete basement
that once belonged to us.
And now we enter a battleground of legality.
And this is mine
mine

mine.

And you claim that.
And all of our possessions will be appropriately divided,
except those that are flammable
or smash-able.

I killed the fish

and snapped the puppy's neck.

You can take the car, but I own the records
and the computer
and the toaster oven. The one my mother gave us

(me!).

And I am taking the kitchen table,
even if it came from your father's house, because I fucked
your best friend on it and it was a memorable fuck.

It isn't any consolation,
to tell you all my demands
and hurt you with the truth.