I shoveled your new snow Into holiday drifts, and rows Matching the clean order of - - What I recalled from inside. A pink suburban ranch One Christmas, my sixth I ate too much peanut brittle, and vomited on your rug. But you payed well Stella, So here is my ciao-Bella Some chores have a grace Take your time, set a pace. Bloodied up the nose Of next door's boy You said "Behave, It's all been coined" By what we try to fix With lottery quick picks, Panicking all through December. I can no longer visualise What old money buys; As face creams multiply Into alibis for tomorrow. But then again I built your fence Placed all the nails - - That came with it And every other one - - I bent, for rent, but you were dignified. Widow, what is the score? Widow, aren't sports a bore? Widow, you must be sore? Enough to let me compromise. Widow, please don't lose the name Of what those 'Earlier' had to gain And love yourself, but not in vain Unless that's all you care about. Now, I bet your dead Twelve years since your bed Swallowed my spent words, unsaid And left me all, but cocky.