clean-up

Seriously, I didn't mean to post poetry so often. It's just easier than taking one of my old stories and typing out. Anyway, this poem fell out of me exactly one week ago. 

I walked through the house and broke every single glass I could find.
Broke--that is too gentle a term.
I smashed every single glass.
Shattered them all. 
I've been drinking too much.
I suppose I thought that breaking all the glasses would make drinking more difficult. 
Oh hell, let's not kid, I didn't think that at all.
It was an impulsive act.
It won't stop me from drinking. Drinks come in bottles. 
Even water comes in bottles now.
Glasses are not required. 
But the mess! All the broken glass. I had no idea we had owned so many glasses. 
I need to clean it up before the kids come home.
I don't want them cutting their feet on glass shards and leaving bloody footprints on the floor.
Plus, cleaning it up will give me time to think of an explanation. 
A lie. 
Oh hell, here I go again with kidding myself. They'll know what happened. They are smart kids.
Goddammit.
It's a good thing I'm wearing boots or my own feet would be cut. 
I don't know if we have a broom.
I'm sure we must, all houses come equipped with one, right?
That's a rule, isn't it?
Goddammit, goddammit.
So much glass. Why did we own so many glasses? We never had company. 
Hey. Wait. 
I forgot about the plastic cups. The ones the kids used when they were toddlers. 
Sentimentality, we held on to them. 
Cups work just fine. Liquid in plastic is the same as liquid in glass. 
That is, if I don't want to drink directly from the bottle. 
You know, I could test one out.
I could, I could.
If I did, I bet I would clean faster.
I would, I would.
The kids won't be home for a while yet.
Things are looking up. 
This is not such a disaster.
Better to light a candle than curse the darkness. 
Or worry about the lack of a broom.