Avocados

I walked to the grocery store the other day 

For a bag of jumbo avocados. 

I took them home and mashed them 

Into guacamole for a birthday party.

I added lime juice,

Red onions – diced,

And tomatoes — the kind that tastes more like a vegetable than a fruit.

I added garlic salt, 

Lemon pepper 

Cayenne,

And sugar.

I tasted it every step of the way. 

I sat down at a table among friends.

We ate the finest homemade macaroni and cheese. 

We slurped up sweet zoodles,

And whole heaps of cheap wine. 

At one point a baby raccoon wandered into the yard.

We told stories on a small pink stage. 

We made s’mores with peanut butter cups. 

We sat until the embers burned 

And the partygoers left. 

We smoked cigarettes and talked about shame 

And the limitations of our power. 

We reconciled differences, 

And laughed with each other.

We looked at stars 

And fathomed at their deaths. 

When the night ended I went inside 

With a ball of fear heavy in my chest. 

I found the lovers hugging in the kitchen. 

I did dishes until the ball disappeared.

The guacamole was gone

But for the hardened, discolored remains 

In the bowl. 

I put my hand under the hot water  

And let it run. 

A voice in my head said something about a global water crisis. 

I turned the faucet off and stood there alone. 

I looked out the window into the yard, 

Where the puppy had dropped another baby raccoon

Dead in the grass.

I thought about masks falling off, 

And the smell of nag champa.

I thought about the desert,

And vision quests, 

And galaxies, 

And love. 

I thought about how some things turn bad 

Faster than avocados 

And how the things worth staying for 

Are often taken for granted. 

I looked at my reflection 

And saw the abandoned house next door. 

I saw the bushes rustle 

And the shadows dance 

I saw among the darkness something like a home. 

I fell asleep at dawn with my headphones in 

And my heart threatening to burst wide open. 

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