A Letter to Neglect

Dear sir/madam,

I hate to break

it to you, but

you’re a mess—

moth balls falling like snow,

moldy cheese in blanket holes,

cat hair and vomit in carpets

and sheets you don’t even

sleep in.

Must I be Nanny McPhee,

swooping in

on a raven’s back,

sweeping the floor

with wings of straw,

while children swim in the sink?

Am I Mary Poppins,

popping in to visit
(while you’re out, getting wasted)

with a spoonful of glucose

to wash the mud down?

I hate to break

it to you, but

I’m the fever,

(not the remedy)

burning up the sickness

you inflicted by turning a cheek.