June 11, 2013

compare and contrast

She is better at her job. He is better with his money.
They are better parents. That poem is better. Yesterday was better.
Last year was. Next year will be. Her life is better.
Or hers. Or his. Not mine. Never mine,
and that “good enough” elusive as a grand-prize lottery.
And so, an endless, fruitless weigh-in, the needle tipping toward
too much or too little and never cozied to its center, lack panting
like a rabid dog. The floorboards keeping shrinking from your gaze,
falling through their own cracks. I’m telling you, this is not the house
you want to build. This is not a house.