Juliana Chang

Rahul, when I ask him to throw away his broken office chair for the 50th time this week

say it say it say it I dare you, say it ONE MORE TIME
you Saturn orbit mouth, you verbal alarm clock 
harass me about the pile of faux leather sticks in the corner
of our living room one more time,
as if you’re really one to talk:
one month under the same roof
and I have learned every one of your vices.
go ahead, bedtime snacker, open mouth chewer,
ask me about the chair, and let me ask:
why do you own 11 kinds of instant noodles
why do you hum song lyrics you don’t actually know
why do you compulsively organize our bathroom soaps
and then use none of them
why do you wear a single sock to bed most nights
what do you mean your left foot runs hot
where is the other sock
does he not miss his partner sock
does he not wake up in the middle of the night
to pull his partner sock in by the shoulders
and murmur into her tangled hair
does your sock know it’s been 31 days
of your toothbrush sitting next to mine
if you were a faulty Office Depot chair purchased
on the day you moved in
I would’ve lost the ability to return you today
does your sock know I don’t want to 
does your sock know I love that flawed, flawed chair
love how it favors the left side
love that it is all brown and all mine
the first time I told you it hurt my back
you bought a wrench and unscrewed the top half off
presented a half-chair back to me grinning
announced that you made me a barstool.