Rink

What happens when you slip.

It smells like nothing.

No matter how thick the cloud is,

It’s odorless,

And rests still in the air

As if on clear legs.

 

Two transparent rectangles,

About the size of tooth enamels

Lay in a broken V on the TV stand.

Months ago,

You started drinking and put on a gut.

Your loneliness was composed of mass.

It made you heavier.

 

You tried finding friends on Craigslist.

Eventually, you met a man

Who’d placed a personal ad for “Ice Skating.”

 

You didn’t catch the lingo,

And were frosted first with panic

When he removed a crystal

From the smallest pocket of his jeans.

 

As terrified as you were,

He had an honest voice

That had a way of twirling you,

Completely at his will, about him.

 

You believed he really could make you

Thinner.

 

Not long afterward,

I began finding the clouds.

First, there was one staring at me from above the toilet,

When I used the bathroom after you.

 

Then they got more confident.

They started appearing in the living room and the kitchen.

I even found one in your car.

 

You’d already warmed up to them

After your date with the skate fiend.

You were never frosted again,

And you glided listlessly

Where it once took too much energy to move.

 

You were practically light enough

To hover.

 

But the clouds have made our apartment heavy.

But your teeth are losing weight and blackened.

But you missed the last three gas payments

For ice,

And I’m freezing to f*****g death.