Art, Poetry, books, novels

Monday, April 11, 2011

Entropy


Copyright © March 28 2011 Caroline Gerardo

Entropy

“I stop carrying your ocean on my back like a block.”

The garden hose syphoned the dank water backwards from the fountain into the house.

“Well I guess that is one way to clean up.” She rubs that one hair on her chin. She plucks the one coarse wire avoiding the tip at Happy Nails. She fills the upstairs tub. To kill bacterium, she adds Epsom salts. This theorem has no scientific basis.

Soaking on her back she announces, “The sky blue sheets are in the recycle bin.”

The children sleep. Behind the door, the dog whines believing there was an announcement for second breakfast.

Anxiety grabs her toes out. The girlish pink glaze is cracked. The universe in rapid entropy rises from the milky lake.

“What number of moons have the linnets gone unfed?” She attempts to relax.

The doorbell rings. She jumps for a cozy towel. Would it not be more civilized to own a hotel towel warmer?

The Cavalier’s claws scrape wildly to protect the hardwood ground. The bulging eyes protect the nest. She slides around the animal.

“Who is knocking at six A.M.?”

The triple slide locks clatter. Her turban head and Chinese phoenix robe face the sunlight. She looks up and down Pacific Coast Highway. It is not Federal Express, there is no sticky note with the routing label. It is not the Sherriff with a summons either. Half nude, she gathers no attention.

The glamor of her morning is all falling apart.

She thinks of the ordained importance into the thread count. There will exist no more Saturday morning ritual sheet washing. The anointed grew a flaw. A ladybug hole spread into the Los Angeles River. There is no sewing back. The comfort replaced by a cheaper brand. A cold measure of disorder, not expressing sorrow, concern or regret, she picks up a ‘Rock’em Sock’em Robot’. His arm is missing.

No fur coat can insulate the children from breaking.

Passive aggressive motions forward, she locks the door twice, her hand pulls away as if burned.

The fingers do not smell like bacon.



You are not a reversible thermodynamic force.

 
 
 
 
 
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