I think I know what he’s doing.
He’s rippling the surface of the pond.
You think my cat cleaned the ashtrays?
Took the trash out while I was at work?
Sowing uncertainty by tidying up.
Someone alphabetized my goddamn bookcase.
From now on they’ll examine
living rooms and closets;
peer into long undusted corners.
Just to make sure.
God no, nothing’s missing,
but the wash is folded.
He’s organizing the chaos out of his head into theirs.
Some psycho made my bed
and washed the breakfast dishes.
Of course I don’t feel safe.
If he can’t be fearless
maybe he thinks, I think, at least
he can be feared.
One more little violation
to add to the growing list.