Love Poem
I was hanging out inside
of a shampoo bottle
when a messenger from the upper
world said that you
were getting married. Sure is
a funny feeling—to lose
what was never yours. So
at long last I decided
to get off my ass and start
the blog I had always
dreamt of, where I post
images of ants
carrying objects at least
twice the size of their own bodies.
The Art of War
In the department store,
there is an area for kids to play.
Most of them are swimming
in a ball pit, but one
is off to the side.
I notice he is reading
The Art of War.
When he sees me
seeing him, he starts to cry.
What's wrong? I ask.
Ugh, he says, the masses.
It's been a while since
I let the masses get me down,
but here in the play area
I give myself permission.
I know, I know, I say,
and we sit there bitterly
watching bargain hunters
come and go.
Don't you hate cats, too?
he asks. Personally,
I like cats, but I don't
want to spoil the mood.
Sure. Hate them, I say.
The kid grins.
Then you're going love this.
He pulls the skinned
corpse of a cat
out of his knapsack.
The eyes have been pulled out
and stuffed in the mouth.
