Like Ikea Furniture

It looked so perfect on the showroom floor,

smoothed grain, clean lines,

the perfect shade of country green

under the bright lights of display,

with a name I could half-pronounce,

the strange funny feel of it on my tongue,

just familiar enough,

like a distantly remembered nursery rhyme.

The box was heavy for its size,

stamped with "assembly required";

how I loved the fantasy

of a completed project!

But it didn't come with the tools

to be put together,

and the pamphlet of instructions

was writing in under-rug language

in sweeping disordered lines.

The cheap dowels of ego

snapped,

nothing locked into place,

wobbling,

the veneer chipping in corners

under the weight of reasonable expectation;

"fragile" masculinity.

As I tried to tighten and draw the boards close

his holes splintered.

Every drawer barely able to open,

stuck halfway,

jammed up by shifting blame.

I put it in it's place in the hallway,

watched as it collapsed,

like a cheap suit shrunk

even when dry cleaned;

A costly lesson

in saving for something

truly worth it.