Last night’s dinner encrusts
the gray enamel plates. The sticky
paste of gnocchi hardened on
the surface like gum that’s been
there for months. The dishes
sing out in an orchestra of
you’re an idiot and why
didn’t you do this sooner?

A ballad of you’re such a 
procrastinator from the mounds
of unwashed laundry, the pile of
whining textbooks, the projects that
need to be done, the bright blue
house that screams to be cleaned,
the kittens whose litterbox
wreaks of negligent deferment.

A refrain of an unsent letter of hate and
anger keeps the loathing alive and the
photos taken long ago of a time when I
didn’t know any better seep into my
dreams and invade my every thought.
My phone hassles me with superfluous
reminders of the cancer survivor
I can’t seem to forgive.