Boxed Set Sestina
I hid my hopes in a cigar box on Christmas, but you gave them away on Boxing Day (in Canada). I clipped box tops for coupons while you gobbled an expensive Bento box lunch. You were a no-show as I waited in line at the box office in the satin pillbox I bought at the thrift store. I collected hatboxes while you flew your box kite wearing only your boxers. Our lovemaking once wore out the box springs, but now you said you felt boxed in. I slumped in the last row while you glowed with someone else in our box seats. You slept in first class while I shivered in the boxcar. I never got your love letter because you forgot to put it in the mailbox. I felt so neglected I ate fistfuls of croutons right from the box in my boxy, unflattering housedress. My shadow box was filled with ceramic figurines of you. Your toolbox was as empty as our icebox. I stayed home, blaring my boom box while you drank at the bar, wasting quarters in a dusty jukebox. Every time I wanted to talk, you told me to get off my soapbox. Were our problems bigger than a breadbox? Yes! Especially when I caught you peeing in the sandbox or dipping into the cashbox while you thought I wasn't looking. It's true I was a chatterbox, but you can't deny you put your affection in a lockbox while you played with your vintage Matchbox cars. It was up to me to open the fuse box and fix the problem. Up to me to take kickboxing to defend myself. I thought I was thinking outside the box when I played your favorite song, Daddy Cool's "Baby, Let Me Bang Your Box," on my squeezebox. I was hoping to win you back after our most vicious boxing match. Thirty-nine rounds of screaming that made the German Boxer next-door growl. It had all started when your word "boxwallah" wasn't in the Scrabble dictionary, then I won with "carboxyl." You snatched up your ebony snuffbox while I tore the boxberries from our flowerbox. I stuffed a shoebox with regret. You packed up your Hot Wheels lunchbox and left.