When the exo-skeleton splinters
in the space beneath my fingernails
and the entrails seep through the Kleenex to my palm--
When I chase the spider, writhing,
and crush legs off with each frantic blow
(five, three, two maimed stumps, and finally a denuded, clutching torso)--
Then I say, dear wife, that my duty is performed,
and I have fulfilled your urge to murder.
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1 comment:
This post brought a smile to my face.
I also like how you have a single link on your blog under the heading "People Smarter Than I."
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