Corinthians

You’re clueless to the mannerisms of

your jaw grinding to that

wet orchestra of dopamine and

the house couldn’t be cleaner

and I don’t know what to say

I sketch my little girl in pencil

I tell her to be still while

Nana floats over the linoleum and

the robot maid from The Jetsons

comes to mind

she cooks but you never see her eat

I begin to shade in her eyes

Those heavy paisley teardrops

two pools of maple syrup

“Never start with the eyes!” my art teacher used to say. That’s all I remembered from her class honestly, go figure.

I’m a quarter thru the sketch and

I see my sister

I see my mother

I see my wife in the sketch and

my mother says dinner is ready

her pupils are a void

devoid of light and she knows i know.