Now it is a Writing Desk

It is a writing desk…

It was a kitchen table
Back then
When I was unstable
Back when
I pushed her till she finally told the truth

Seven years before
We bought the table new
Alright, alright
(She said)
It’s true, you’re not my type
I’m not attracted to the what you are… become

Struck dumb
Not with surprise but rage
The ages that she’d lied

The steak knife by my side
Cried out
And over-handed raised it high
I stabbed the guiltless pine

Wanted to do violence
Experience
Some sense of vengeance
To scar as I was scarred
Marred

The tip broke off embedded
The argument was ended

Today the knife is gone
And so is she
The shrapnel dent is all that’s left

Some days I think about removing
This remnant shell
Bomb fragment from a former war

But that would change no part of what it was
And change too much of what it is… become
It was a kitchen table

…Now it is a writing desk