I don’t love conflict
of any kind, or

crying while I do the dishes
Look how the despair is softening my hands!

or how my inner gray is twinned
by the gray outside

until the sun goes down, mercifully —
it’s like the old dirty joke says:

They all look the same
in the dark.

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For the PAD Chapbook Challenge, Day 25. Prompt: A love poem or an anti-love poem.