I gather up each conversation
that fell to the carpet.
Discussions and debates.
I distill the discussions into perfumes.
Ode de Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche.
Ode de Joyce Mitchell Cook.
I cure the debates and work them
into baseball gloves and McClellan saddles.
But only those conversations
that drained wine bottles.
These are morning after chores.
Like washing the wee hour dishes.
Like slipping vinyl records into their sleeves.
Like lifting the hide-away bed.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney