first apartment

you remember buying
your first couch,
a plaid monster,
pleated
with leather straps,
your first lamp and end table.
the bed, queen sized,
you were hopeful then,
the dressers.
plates and glasses,
silverware that would
bend in the sun.
a plant for the corner,
near the sliding glass
door with a broken broom
jammed in the slot
for protection. how you
struggled
with a hammer and a screw
standing on
a wobbly chair to put
the drapes up,
heavier than carpet.
you remember
the towels, one for me,
one for you. the two slotted
toaster,
the mixer, that waffle iron,
never to be used.
you remember
at the end of the day
measuring the wall
from side to side,
top to bottom to hang
the golden faux painting
of ships, galleons
sailing on some strange
yellow sea.