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Page 81

THIS MAN IN MY KITCHEN Carl Boon
 
 When you love another, I can 
 love you more, he says, this man 
 in my kitchen exploring the pantry,
 fascinated, craving. He fingers 
 the semi-sweet chocolate chips—
 something can be done with these,
 he says, something amazing. 
 We could have a party! But I 
 am tired. The people will come,
 they’ll leave their glasses
 on the mantle, their super-deluxe
 store-bought hors d’oeuvres
 in various corners of the bedroom,
 all the while making plans 
 for other parties, other women, men.
 This man in my kitchen straightens
 the placemats and says I’m special,
 says I should part my hair
 down the middle like the girl 
 on The Bachelor, that my skin’s
 a Nevada wildfire. I have no idea
 what that means, but still I listen,
 hoping someday we might go to the sea
 and be strangers once again 
 to fall in love again and be away
 from Cleves, Ohio, its gawkers
 and absolute certainty. I pray
 he won’t touch the forks and knives,
 the pepper grinder my mother
 gave me before she died. He says
 (before he leaves) that love 
 is a thing that must be shared,
 Page 74 | The Paragon Journal

Profile for The Paragon Press

The Paragon Journal - Issue Ten  

The Paragon Journal is an online literary journal that specializes in helping younger authors find their way in the literary world.

The Paragon Journal - Issue Ten  

The Paragon Journal is an online literary journal that specializes in helping younger authors find their way in the literary world.

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