Apology by heather krueger

​In the apartment below, 
a cigarette burns. The world 
is a slow spin and we circle, 
 
searching for weakness, 
eat each other’s words for dinner, snack 
between meals. My teeth are always hungry.
 
I sliced the pineapple and you forgave me. 
Excuses run down our chins and still, 
we eat. 
 
The wind sends snow across the back alley, 
an unending game. This is your nightmare and I am 
the disaster. A cold snap descends 
 
and every time the door opens, the birds break 
and scatter. The temperature follows the sun and I inhale; smoke 
signals danger. 
 
Pineapple is trucked thousands of miles and we wrap memories 
around our tongues. How many times 
have we rolled the dice? There is one way to win, 
 
even if birds die, even if 
we eat poison and it drips down 
our chins. Let it slide like an apology.