a walk down Primrose lane

it's raining out,

so

i get on my hands and knees

and begin

to clean out

the stove.

the blackened

walls,

the racks,

shiny with grease

and spills.

i have old towels and scrub

brushes,

sprays

and chemicals.

i go to it with my mask on.

it's an archaeology

dig.

i find

some chicken bones,

some gravy

turned to glue,

the overflow of stews.

the charred

remains, the DNA

of spareribs. old cheese

strung

from the roof.

scraps of tin foil from all

the Swanson tv dinners

are scattered about.

it's a walk down memory

lane.

of holidays,

and happy days.

before everything caught fire.