The last faded door stuck his head into the hall.
All shrieks were stilled and smooth
was the perfect order of patterned wallpaper.
His eyes lay on the girl like a calculated machine
already in print. Earlier that night
his musical had gone off without a hitch.
The same could not be said for the war.
"Meredith" he said. "The emergency wine coolers
have been disappearing rather frequently as of late."
He knew this to be true and felt wise for thinking it.
Meredith looked down. By the window she knew
better than him that gravity thinks
every scrap should be on the floor.
Yet she was somehow unaware of the mitigated torment
punctured within mailmen and killers. Or that
the inconsequential third party was only too accustomed
to enter upon a scene that hoped to find him.
There had been a time before the door's cretinous tune
had yet to even make itself up when she had wanted
to write, "Well don't stay mad forever,"
but after rigorous editing only kept the first