HE IS MY CAIN
The freaks, of course, are those
For whom there is no more hope. Or love.
Poked fun at inside the womb they slid
Into a world quite humorless, with bodies
Wrong out of shape from boisterous,
Pent up laughter: the jokes on them.
Though their cages and my booth scream
From the same spectacular side of the carnival,
I will never accept claims, seriously,
Of kinship. The human spider. The turtle boy.
Twins linked to each other by their penises.
Man leapfrogs, eats flies, and croaks,
With every inch of him mottled, eyes unblinking
And red. I’m not such a one.
Because after the balls have circled like bats
I too have someone waiting for me. He’s happy
I come to him at just the right time
When money is always tight for my sweet.
I give him my night’s earnings when he asks.
He’s yet to show me he’s able not to.
When he does I’m never ready to resist
The smile like water, the hand thrown open,
The blanket of hospitable skin. I never let him
See me getting dunked like bread in his coffee.
He hasn’t, yet, and it’s the one promise
He keeps whose future brokenness I am.
I love him so much I can see myself a fish
Swimming feverishly in soup, forever.
It’s like it’s true he loves me, too.
After all he says it right after I’ve said it
And give him what he so pityingly takes.
Breakfast I carve out a woman’s heart from my body.
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