I smashed a hot dog into her face because she refused to pass the catsup because ... I forget why. So she ran after me and shook me then took the seven dollars and my keys and her card and went out to the movies and I took out my butcher knife and slammed it on her table and made four dents in it and then threw myself on the bed and stared at the cuff of my shirt and thought how love chokes you and then I got up and rubbed salad oil into the dents and cleaned up the house and made a pile of my books in the bedroom and got my pen and set the phone up in case anyone might call and looked in my address book for the list I have of possible lovers and called a few numbers, relieved they weren't home, and then I wrote in my journal how I hate her then called Nicky on the phone and we talked during the commercial about rage. Then she said she had to hang up, it was a special on DeGaulle, so I hung up and leafed through a book of stories by women about love.
From Extremes: Poems 1971-1981, published by Blue Giant Press (1981). Originally published in Hanging Loose, issue 41. Used by permission of the author.