the simple flick of the light switch
is nice to come home to. it
lights the kitchen walls so you can
water the Gerbers, give them a pat,
take the leftover spaghetti from the fridge —
the sauce you made for family
when the apartment filled with noise
so much bigger than the TV —
watch the bowl spin round, round
the heat picks every particle and bursts
tomato in a fine spray you’ll clean
later in the night, when you can’t sleep.
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