lasagna
arguing with my wife
arguing with the night
i open a kitchen cabinet
in a rage
and a box
of open lasagna noodles
comes flying out of it
splashing the milk and egg mixture
meant for the evening’s
breaded pork chops
i pick up the box
with half of the noodles left in it
throw it against the wall
watching as the pasta
smashes into
a thousand pieces
and the cats scatter
in different directions
i pour my wife and i a drink
feel good for the first time
that day
like no one or no thing can touch me
vindicated
free
such unbounded joy
from an act so simple
and pure
even though i know
that i’ll be picking up
yellow shards of lasagna
well into the next month.
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