Red Onion in the Snow

An elegant blitz of slush
is something I can wake up to.
My sheets have jelly on them.
All my books are marked with severed
pinkies. Out in the living room someone
spilled corn on the pillows
and stinky green multivitamins
are strewn on the floor.
What's going on here?
I'm alone with the
crisp metallic clang of the radiator and the sounds
of snow removal machines humming
together creating a wobbly harmony.
The day is blank. Someone put
a red onion on the snow outside
my door, like that would help
change things, like I would ever
find love again.