This week’s Little Vines.

4477.
The hot grilled cheese sandwich arrives –
the current adored iteration in a long-running royal dynasty.
We clap.

4478.
tiles on the kitchen floor.
the ones underneath the refrigerator
know where your lost earring is.

4479.
a vanished dictatorship
the era ending
when our last cat died and left us on our own

4480.
The distribution of the vast inheritance –
they decided it after five or six beers,
the nincompoops.

4481.
The last plate she ate from
set adrift
shattering against the wall.
What an argument.

4482.
nothing more clear
than last night’s dream of four cats
chasing a mouse around the basement
calling it by my name

4483.
A difficult friend
carrying out a force ten crying jag
in the middle of a storm of liquor
I hang on for dear life

4484.
oh yeah the book is about how
to entertain crustaceans like no one else can
I tell you it is a real pot-boiler

4485.
in quite a peppery mood
the spurious sauce, a fizzed green froth,
chewing through the glaze on the dinner plates

4486.
Home, and the sight of unpacked empty luggage
detaches her from that difficult weekend.
She zips the last case shut. Let the ghosts sleep now.

4487.
all over the world a pale sparkling rain
pours like champagne from the sky
what miracle is this? I say and cup my hands to drink

4488.
Could one good-natured guy do all of this –
get us to stop quarreling ask us to make up –
and we would do it? Yes, it would take just one.
Are you that one?

4489.
the apartment now clean and empty
the pleasant pink glow of our living room
subdued and grayed by our withdrawal

4490.
To send your sister two pairs of scissors
and force her to choose which one
when either will work fine for cutting
her marriage in two. If she will just choose.

4491.
the paint can
its lustrous pale pink emptied out
now a warm glow surrounding us safe here at home

4492.
This pleasantries-filled diary
is just fake. All fake. To throw us off.
She’s hidden the real one. Bet on it.
Find it.

4493.
she balks
her well-mannered reluctance
ascends
tangible in the air like the smell of burned sugar

4494.
Heedless you, you threw it out of the window
the arrow pointing “This Side Up”
hitting the ground first and hard. Oh dear.

4495.
the billionth umbrella unfurled today
is yours. In the pink glow of streetlights
through a mist of low sparkling clouds
lies your drizzly night walk home.

4496.
Yes, there was the failure of her socks
on that crazy epic journey but
blisters will heal. Feet will forget.