Worry

Worry walks in
with two carry-ons
and a bad attitude.
It’s going to be
a long weekend.

Worry chain-smokes
in the smoke-free area.
He tosses his ciggie
into my worst nightmare.
It bursts into flames.

Before I can pour
cabernet on the fire,
Worry cannonballs
into the wine,
drenching the judges.

They give him a 10 for
staining the carpet.

Worry moves into
the basement, to live
amid the dark things
that fester below –
family migraines, bad hearts.

He laughs and lights a match.
I burst into flames.