Jerry decided that morning it was time
he was finally going to intervene
with his wife about it all—the crowd
of dead houseplants in the bedroom,
the dusty magazine piles towering
like mausoleums in the hallway,
the mound of dishes choking the washbasin
in the kitchen, and even the scattered pictures
hung on the walls displaying people
from families they never knew.
But before he could find the right words,
the loose leg of a dining room chair gave out
sending shoeboxes full of figurines crashing
along the living room floor. And just like that,
his wife appeared. Dropping to her knees
with a roll of tape in her right hand,
she splayed her left hand beneath a maze
of used sofas and leaning end tables
as she searched for missing porcelain pieces.
“Help me!” she begged him. “Help me
put back together my Precious Moments!”
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