Napkin feels a noose too tight As shrills of merriment bombard me at every corner. Your parrots flock around you, echoing your gauntlet of dissatisfaction— for everything is a set table, awaiting royalty to dine. Any deviation is an orchestra off-tune I sit, a lapdog— or so you would believe. According to your rain gauge Your crumbs of affection suffice I clean the mess you make, sleepwalking up and down the hill I alone can see— for the gutter was home since infantry. I rush to catch your falling goblet. Bone China snaps. Glass shatters, crimson blooming stark on white You sigh My hands fail me as I fall again, my body imprinting the floor like a broken pattern