By Christian Cassidy-Amstutz
You came home late last night,
opening the door to the fridge
so you could see what you were doing
by its light. You must have been tired
though, because you went to bed
with the door still open and the eggs
in the fridge went bad. It didn’t help
that they were months old
and we would never eat them. The smell
was overpowering. The cats ran in tight,
dizzying circles, as though the fumes
made them drunk, and you videotaped their chase
and put it on your facebook wall. Dear,
your screaming that “you can’t miss this”
as the pitter-patter of padded feet
pounds inside my head after a night
of heavy drinking, isn’t doing wonders
for how much I currently love you.