Crooked Teeth

Hey crooked teeth
Do you think
That we ever could have
Grown tomatoes
In your sore spine of an apartment
That is
Bent over,
and
Polite about the pain?
We could have sipped on hot soup
And laughed by the heater
Blankets can't kill the cold,
But they can at least break its toes.
Maybe if I refused to drive you to
The job that made your blood boil and bubble
We could have curled up by our faux fireplace
And I would've sold another lie
And you would've bought another lie
And we could lie together
By the tomato pots.