Hom, or Someplace Like It

I know I’m being followed

so I scoot into Hom furniture

and pantomime a little showtune

past a couple who are mid-argument

near the sofas and theatre seating

to dispel any cringe

the 5-inch scar swathed across my head

is itchier than a mug and reminds me

to check in with my attorney

when a sales consultant named Phil

approaches in a maroon polo that screams

muscles are my passion

he jokingly asks me to duel

I accept

choose your weapon, he says

without hesitation I grab the lamp

to my left that a feng shui practitioner

would have destroyed on sight

a tall skinny thing, brushed nickel

and much better suited for a loft or alcove

or someplace near a desktop computer

rather than a showroom featuring

every configuration of a particular

kind of bunk bed

impressed by my natural sense of

where furniture should be

Phil then offers me a job I immediately  

accept, my own little F.U

to the lawyer who claimed I was

intentionally unemployed, just waiting

for a settlement, which is all to say

private investigators, insurance company

adjusters and everything that’s ever hurt

me is evil