Desiccated Coconut (poem)

Desiccated Coconut

Plucking the hammer
from my capable fingers
you said, ‘I’ll drive in the nail.’

Milk sluiced into the cup;
chunks orbited the perimeter,
exploring containment.

I can still see tools
arrayed upon the bench
like evidence in a trial:

‘Weekend Getaway
Gone Wrong’

(as it had)

The liquid was sour
disappointing my mouth –
like every other time
we’ve bought coconuts.

You said, ‘I’ll put it in the fridge
it might taste better cold.’

Ironic
seeing our marriage doesn’t.