The Almost Love Poem of Eloise and Kofi

When Eloise tells Kofi she wants a divorce,

he sits naked on the kitchen floor skinning

an ox tongue to prepare Eloise’s favorite dish.

Blood trickles down his fingers onto the floor.

This is not in my head, in my head the bruised

organ is in the hands of Eloise and she almost

loves Kofi. What a strange word, almost.

I look at the rain clouds and they almost seem

to stagger. When did I last have a drink?

My stomach feels heavy and a urinous smell

stays where Kofi sits naked. So what if Eloise

wants a divorce? She is made of stubbornness.

Kofi is not thinking about the ox as he marinates

its tongue in a basin of tomato juice. Eloise stands

there, insisting on a divorce as the blood mixes

into the tomato juice. A pause. Kofi has a chance

to recover his patience and pull it over himself.

They have many times pressed their bodies together

and peeled them apart—elation. Love is a wretched,

wretched thing. Eloise wishes Kofi would put down

the tongue and say something.