A new life begins

and the old one decides to throw a tantrum

pulling pans, mid-bubble, off the stove,

pitching a canister of oats across the tile

unscrewing the cap on the honey just enough

to guarantee a disaster the moment it’s needed.

You’re in the muck of it,

the stuck of it,

and an evil grin blooms slightly on your old life’s face

who sits nearly out of sight

helping you to forget its presence

until

you shake your head, bounce dust out of ears,

and spot it there.

No sir! This game, while it has been fun,

is no more.

With a step, a bit of a jig, you leave not only the kitchen

but the house

leaving whatever sticky puddle behind

for the ants to clean up.