robert lyons

Kafka Knows All About It


A girlfriend came in today.
We dirtied the sheets
and she washed them after,
and even made the bed.
I cooked,
she did the dishes,
the laundry,
threw away the beer cans,
cleaned the bathroom,
cut my hair,
and vacuumed.
Saint Louis doesn’t want me anymore.
My old friends are pissed about
the writing
and the secrets hidden in
line breaks.
I’m in exile.
Taylor’s mom is not too keen
on us living together,
but the plumber came in today.
He fixed the shower.
The internet is working,
the heater is back on,
and I have just broken it off
with all five of my
girlfriends.
I liked it better
in disorder;
at least I could write.
Now the friends are gone,
the women are gone,
everyone has left me.
Now, not even the roaches
can come out to chat.