a poem by Charlotte Cunningham McEachin

Lack-Land

At Lackland, Corey from Limon warns me how
his sister calls-and-confides, "I'm cooking a
Fucking-Pot-Roast."
(She got married.)

Then, Corey from Limon takes me aside
confidentially
tells me not to marry You.

(I Do.)

Soon enough, I am burning pot roast, baking
potatoes so long that they smell like burnt
brownies, all the while maintaining
(emphatically)
that I Did:

And - I - Do.

Then,
Ten Years Later,
Divorce Papers served
into
my
hands,
I find: You are Done
I find: You are Through.

Then,
Ten
More
Years.

Now, remarried, now
basting and baking and burning
another Fucking-Pot-Roast,
but this time,
not for you.

Not - For - You.

© by Charlotte Cunningham McEachin
 
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #6 ~ November 2009