Directions Would Have Been Nice

I spilled my stomach on the floor
While you yelled about consequences
and the probability of this not lasting
longer than three days. When that night
from work, you called, said you were
running late and I shouldn't wait up.
I did anyway, rearranging your sock drawer.

It's been two days,
twelve cups of tea, and seventeen
bathroom trips. You haven't returned
to tell me how long this bout will last-
what I should do about the clogged drain
in the kitchen sink, or why the toilet
and my mind
won't
stop
running.