My mistake

Our new washer leaks sometimes. The water creeps across the floor and gets under the wall in a corner between the washer room and the mud room. The last time it did this, I noticed that some mold was forming on the lower part of the sheetrock. So it was time to clean out all the old magazines, books, and papers from that corner so that we could work on replacing the drywall (er...wet wall). Most of the stuff I chucked since I hadn't touched it for years. But I did find a folder of partial writings from who knows when. And there was one complete piece that I don't remember writing, nor do I remember the circumstances that led me to write it. So I don't know if it's based on fact. I know I don't have an Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary. But the subject of the piece sounds vaguely (embarrassingly) familiar. I've probably repressed it.

My Mistake

The chair broke,
so I gave it to our stove to chew on.
But I don't think our stove likes chairs
because the legs were still there in the morning,
black and not even smoldering.

That is how I learned
that metal does not burn.

So when Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary
and all my cousins
come over -
well, then - that's when everyone
hears about my mistake
(for the umpteenth time).

I would not mind
if they all did not cry so much
when they laughed.

I was supposed to have learned
a lesson.
And I think I did
because I don't burn metal chairs anymore,
especially since my mistake is
a subject of endless mirth.

But once in a while I get the urge
to feed the stove a relative or two.