Dreams are just like that.

A screaming fit about coffee

grounds, windowsills and 

compost. 

There was the usual banging

together, he uses 2 hands to 

clean both the filter and the pot, clanging them on the sides of the ceramic pot. 

2 hands, Not one, but both, tap tap tap until I want to scream at him

and I did

you never, its always and he uses my words to not listen, 

which 

makes sense as I am screaming. 

In my dreams I wander 

mountains alone 

looking for sasquatch or

bobcats or wolves. 

I sail the whole of puget sound in a boat

navigating

by stars. I photograph

wars and wear my 

dungarees on my hips, my belly 

still concave and my hip bones 

an anchor for the waist of my

 baggy and dusty jeans

But, really, its just another day. I wake up,

go to work, and when I can’t stand another minute of it,

Create a tempest in a teacup

as Melvin used to say at the AA meeting. 

And I scream, my voices rises the more

he ignores me.

then I say "fuck” a lot, but never fuck you,

because honestly, he’s the best person

for me, partly

because he ignores my

tantrums. 

Im grateful

they are only a once

in a while thing, thundering when

the mountains

call, wars rage and

coffee grounds turn to 

clouds.