the guest bedroom holds many more things than a bed —
shelving packed with clothes, boxed items, loose items
large & small, dust & cat hair everywhere including
the bedcover — when I pull it back to look at the sheets
I find a cockroach dead on the pillow, the rest of house
mirrors the bedroom, overstocked & undercleaned
I pick at my supper, excuse myself before the others
return to the bedroom where I squirrel cockroach
plus pillow behind a closet door, fully clothed in the bed
I read, worry, barely sleep, & in the morning I stubbornly
tearfully insist that I must leave, everyone’s confused
they protest, later I learn they were irate, I organize
a ride to the airport where I rent a car, drive two days
home, lick my wound — the breach takes forever to heal
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