my life as the table

she wants me to be clean, for every painted square
the pink, light blue and navy blue ones to be visible,
for there to be no pools of honey, bread crumbs, used
paper napkins.
a clear clean horizontal surface,
her breath travels across my surface,
dissipating along the lines to the floor.
he abhors a clean surface, I seem to call to him
as soon as I'm clear, first the papers that never
get attended to, then a grocery bag filled with socks
and empty lunch boxes, dirty.
the line is drawn half way across
but he pushes it little by little,
then brazenly covering my entire
surface.
there is war on my surface
it will play out on the pink and blue squares
each side taking position
the pink will win in the end now
since she has bowed to the blue for
too long.
I know this to be true.