Books fell, pushing
the mason jar off the shelf, handle
no longer intact
of glass & tiny, glittering
fragments, clementine peels
& seeds left washing
in the sun, hardening
in an afternoon, tottering under the stove.
I swept them up
while you were away
the books in crooked watchtowers
on the floor around me, once
slanted creaking hardwood planks, now it's thin
brown carpet concealing cement.
Brian Le Lay likes to fiddle with language and find the funny. His poems have appeared in places like Drunk Monkeys, VAYAVYA, and Peach Mag.