Takeout

We used to get in these fights.

“I cooked,” you’d say.

“So you have to clean.”

I never saw that as fair.

You got to have all the fun,

Spraying the kitchen with Rooster Sauce

And I got the clean up.

Which is why it makes sense that you left.

“Leave me alone,” you say.

“I’m studying.”

You got to sleep in my bed

And forgo paying rent

And take bites of my heart

And I got the clean up.

Now, I order men like take out

And when I’m finished, it’s easy;

There’s no clean up at all.

You just toss out the empty containers.

There’s no dishes to wash 

Or pans to scour

Just his pants on my kitchen floor.