Coffee at the Cottage

Come to the cottage.
Circumnavigate crumbling
concrete and clumps of crab grass.
Coming apart like its
crumpled curmudgeon.

Crowd into the cottage,
its curtains closed.
The cranky crab
calls you into the kitchen
for cool coffee and curdled cream.

Cracked crockery
clutters the counter,
cockeyed cabinets can’t quite close.
Confused as the conversation from
chaotic consciousness.

Comfort the comfortless
cadaverous countenance,
close to coup de grâce,
concluding kiss.
Come to the cottage.