After the Honeymoon

She           calls me

weird        because

I                would let

a                spider en-

snare         dust bunnies

for             a year;

calm          with disinterested

acceptance  its carcass folds in on

itself.            —Wisdom

collects     my shed skin and

blonde hair turned fairy powder

up there in the ether

net cord

disconnect-

dismember your enemies’

eggshells after

they make those deviled eggs sprinkled

with paprika

we gorge ourselves on, every year

she always cries at the cold

in the eggs when the hen walks

away.

She lectures me on fertility, orphans,

and cradle robbers.

I say, we’ll adopt, Hon, we’ll adopt.

Some eggs just aren’t ejected to be chicks.

Where did the bunny get the eggs,

is what I want to know.

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