stirred—
I swear
I can hardly understand
a word
of all these
Arias of Verdi's—I just
like the way
the bass
voice makes me feel—mild,
kind of
sweet—and then
swirly, like a gooey
crespelle batter bubbling
off—in the
pan of the tight little kitchen
of somebody some-
where who
loves some-
one else
just—
enough to cook
pointless-
ly difficult things like me
up
just—
for little-
old
her on his off-day.