Brittany Cavallaro

LATE TO THE PARTY

Lost my car in the one-hour garage
but like a lifetime ago. Still here
I am, keys in hand, charging

in the wrong direction. The right choice is right
there only I get impatient. Hit all the lift
buttons one through thirteen, straight down

but slowly, shrugging at each new rider like
some kid did this. Or listen—I go
to the sea, I roll myself in like entropy

or like a meme. Drunk in a crop top, hocking
lawn darts at your dog or worse
I’m talking reliable and timely shit about

you to your kid because when
I get ma’amed I get even. When I told
my mom I was getting married she said you’re still

in college! She was close, I was teaching
college, but her point still stands
or stood beside me in our Christmas kitchen,

shaking (shaking!) over some slight
about I think the asparagus. For years I carried
a dustpan behind him, wielded a Magic Eraser

that gently eroded the surface
of my days down until I was as bland
as milk, as kind as a kindergarten teacher

mopping up vomit so yes I can
learn to like anything given
sufficient motivation. What’s the half-life

of a bad lie? If I can’t be the homework I’ll be
the dog. If I can’t be the ass I’ll ride one.

BRITTANY CAVALLARO is the author of the poetry collections Girl-King and Unhistorical, both from the University of Akron Press. Her poems have appeared in American Poetry Review, Southern Review, and Tin House. The recipient of an NEA fellowship, she lives in Michigan and teaches creative writing at Interlochen Center for the Arts.