To Bear the Right

The picture postcard Goddess on my fridge
has eight, one for every day and then some

random crap will happen, the roof
spring a leak, a dictator stink

I’ll scream or just lie 
there in bed, slow draining

blinking red. The dagger 
of a parting, tender

box, pins down
stairs in my face,

no way to climb                                                                                                                 
any rung to pop -

corn stars are a flash
in the pan they fire

up the right 
arms, enshrined kitsch in sync.