The Kitchen Table By Sy Roth



Words once slipped lovingly from their tongues
Words beyond the newspaper and the sweetened cornflakes
Wrapped in Smartphones
Where butterflied inches once fluttered lazily across the kitchen table,
Where dreams, cottony soft sno’ cones,
Lay blissfully in the soft glow of the kitchen chandelier
Where the expectation of conversation was met at a low bar
And the lovers could paste tender eyes on one another and ignore their DNA.

Silent thoughts once danced among the yellow flowers.
Somewhere, well beyond the confines of that kitchen table,
A symphony played an etude
Turning into the Brandenburg
Where Gatling guns exploded in a volley of fire,
Where snap, crackle and pop imploded the droopy-black eyes
That saw only crimson halos
And Sikorsky helicopters hovering perilously.

Quiet, storm-nomads stayed afloat
Holograms on a tranquil sea.
Seconds of gerrymandering
Made battle with speed bumps that rattled their teeth
And silent, sesquipedalian lines beat a hasty retreat
Like rodents darting to their nearest hidey-hole.
Their malevolent thoughts burrowed into the bowels became tenements
Rowdy with the smell of cabbage and rotting oysters.

The kitchen table,
DMZ for souls who seek refuge in their foxholes
Where they cannot rescue each other from the slaughter,
Are loath now to stem the stream of blood
Or seek solace from their turtlelike existence.

The kitchen table their dividing line
Where they sit
and read tacitly,
And fume,
Crunching of their morning cereal
Perusing the crates of false news cycles
Anger fastened to their lips,
Grandiloquent integuments
Hiding sour words and scowls
Lost in a blood-stained forest of transient truces.

©2018 Sy Roth


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