Letters

My Dearest Louse,

I have never loved you, but I
dream of it. The gentle feet.
The long cool itch of the chitinous
heartbreaker. As I walk the tight, lonely aisles
of my local apteka, my eyes fix on the tall
curvaceous casts in green and blue plastique.
the elixir to your undoing. How I long
to break your spell with its foamy stream.

- - - - - - -

Mon petit chou-chou des arthropods,

How I tickle your eight legs. Stare
into your sweet expression of genuine
vacuity. You will suck the vini
vidi vici out of me, if I let you. Oh,
but I just might let you. You Diablo
di orders Anoplura and Mallophaga.

Sayonara,
Your very own tennis shoe
trapped on a wire.

- - - - - - -

Louse,

Precious little half shell of a louse.
You and I were not meant to be ensuite.
At least not for days. Let us see this all
as something that felt wry and tingly
for the moment. You learned some things
(and I did, too, no doubt). Though I can’t say
the times were magnanimous, at least
they were uncomfortable.

- - - - - - -

Contributor

Mary Donnelly

ADVERTISEMENTS