Blunt guts discarded
along the kitchen counter

toilet lid busted in half
on the bathroom floor

fire damage in the pantry
next to the refrigerator
tagged with graffiti

and naked pinup posters
cover fist craters
in the hallway walls.

You have the last supper—
a chuck steak cooked to
the temperature of moo

and some boxed red wine
you drink from a styrofoam cup—
before you finally
have to turn over your key.

It’s safe to say
you’re not getting
the security deposit back.

– Cord Moreski