All these years gone by and she comes up with

All these years gone by and she comes up with
now she wants to grow. The kids grew. I grew.
Now she wants to grow. The difference is
the rest of us grew without disrupting
the whole house. We didn’t need a loom, or
a potter’s wheel, or whatever the hell
occurs to her today. She watches the
women’s shows on television, and they’re
full of shit like how to be artistic
with old egg cartons. Or how to turn junk
into lamps and planters. She doesn’t even
like plants but now she’s got to have plants for
all the planters. It’s like we live in a
junkyard that’s going back to nature. All
those vines. Except they’re more yellow than green.
She forgets to water them so they’re dropping
dead leaves all over the floor. And since she’s
stopped cleaning they stay there. It’s June but when
I go home it’s like summer’s over. It’s
like fall, with all the dead stuff, and I
shuffle through the leaves on the floor to get
to the bathroom, to get to the tv.
That’s why I’m at the bar so much. I figure
give her a year or two she’ll get over
it. She can grow. She can stay the same size.
I just don’t see why my part is I have
to sit in the middle of dead leaves while
I’m trying to watch the Series.