Milk

Too much noise has been spilled

and the cat will no longer lick it up.

 

The raucous dinner guests who knocked it over

walked away without acknowledging the wet elbows and wrists

of those who suffered to listen.

 

They who are now inundated

stare in frozen disbelief

at the bottle, as it tumbles, heedless of its impending doom,

to the floor.

 

No one realized the bottle would cause such a crash

when it tumbled to the hard, stone floor.

Glass shatters; the noise flies in all directions.

 

Spilling under the refrigerator, under the stove, in the high heeled shoes of the young girl

who hadn’t said a word.

It will take hours to clean in the silence made victim by the noise. The smell will linger.

We’ll need to air out the room. Maybe use some bleach.

No one has seen the cat.

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