cruise ship pro-tip

spoon-less spoon i call the big metal spoon
whose weld broke
thereby leaving only a handle
tucked in the back of the drawer
that also houses the can opener,
the garlic smoosher, the wire pastry cutter
and i ask is this something you need

what’s green and growing out there alyson asks
and all i see is moss on the hillside
sortof green but also kindof a dead yellow

all the light pouring into
the light-green-walled and light-blue-floored studio
on the 2nd floor that features
south-facing, north-facing and east-facing windows
the promenade tom says
his cruise ship pro-tip
that’s where you can get away
from all the people, that’s
where you can see all that water


the galloping
up and down the hallway
with little squeaks along the way
of lisi the gray cat
sometimes chasing
and sometimes being chased
what word is there
for licking the taste of a place
in other words, the last brown syrupy bits
of sorghum that i spatula from the jar
some that i lick and some that i
stir into the batch of granola
with the maple syrup and coconut oil

the smell of the granola i’ve been intending to make
for days now finally filling the kitchen
tonight alongside the mountains of dishes
from our day’s work of bottling apple cider vinegar
and grinding eggshells and
mixing up a batch of spoiled-cat cat food
and dinner dishes and

a futuristic sci-fi dystopian novel i say
about the coronavirus
leading to the stock market drop
and how this could be the beginning
of the unmendable unraveling