a little dust up

the police
knock hard and long
on the steel door.
they peer into the narrow
slot of the chained
apartment door,
they are serious in black
and blue.
hands
on hipped guns,
fingering clubs
and mace, whatever
means it takes
to subdue
this crowd
of two.
two lovers who no
longer
see eye to eye
on anything,
both holding forks
and knives
on this fair
holiday in November.
we're fine, the wife
says, still holding
the large fork
meant to serve
turkey.
we're good here,
the man with the carving
knife says,
just a little dust
up, no need to worry.
just getting ready
to have some dinner
gentlemen. but thanks
for stopping by.