It would be so nice, you say,
if something made sense
for a change. If your body
wasn’t the bright-iced cake
that Mad Hatters swallow whole.
Tonight, though, we’ll eat
the courses we know by heart
—your soup, my salad,
the communal tequila.
There will be no tea,
no party, no flamingos
to thrum cellos in the corner—
only fire on your lawn as I burn
every watch he ever owned.
I can’t promise to shut you up
like a telescope. Your shot glasses
will always nest in mugs, in bowls.
But I can be the Dave Stewart
to your Wonderland, picking sitars
as we smoke among the mushrooms,
& I’ll erase everyone from the table
if only you’ll tell me where to begin.
T.A. Noonan is the author of several books and chapbooks, most recently four sparks fall: a novella (Chicago Center for Literature and Photography, 2013) and Dress the Stars (Dusie Kollektiv, 2013). She lives on Florida’s Treasure Coast with her partner and serves as Associate Editor of Sundress Publications.