A NEW DECORUM
A NEW DECORUM
Surprise mortar attacks have left 
makeshift trenches between tents 
every day this week, and the Forward 
Command Center burst into flame 
this morning at 0200, 
a shade of red you can’t describe. 
In the past three days I have washed 
every scrap of fabric in the house, 
bleached the kitchen, cleaned the windows, 
fixed the screen door, made three batches 
of strawberry jam with rum, hammered 
butter into croissant dough, jogged ten miles 
and finished two Agatha Christie novels.
You sounded as if everything would be fine 
until I told you about the yellow irises 
I bought last minute at the store tonight, 
twelve of them at their peak, reflecting gold 
over the grey-flecked linoleum, 
over their cellophane funnel 
dotted with red markdown stickers 
that read in handwritten letters take me!

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