Game 73

CHI 116               TOR 103

Two carpets in my classroom
One red
One grey
Matching floral prints.

Given to me by
Another fucking friend
Moving to New York.

Two little rugs
From a house of drinkers
And smokers
And art-fag dance parties.

Covered in dog hair.

Dark enough to mask ash and wine
And pretty much anything--
Perfect.

The grey one
smells of piss and
Curves up at the corners--
Higher every day.

All year long
I have wrestled with its irregularity
Expressed as a formidable crease--
Geographical.

Placing chairs strategically
Pulling tight under desk
Or filing cabinet--
Denial--
Resistance.

But that crease--
Bastard little hump that it is--
would never go away,

Until today.

Soldiers at my side
I ride through the urine stench--
Commands barked
Over the screams of children.

Mongolian horsemen
Famous for our ruthlessness.

Fire behind us
Curved swords ahead
We tilt tables,
Roll rugs,
Salt earth,

And sweep remains.