I find you in a puddle of takeout menus
coil around your isthmus of a body
diner door biting my shell-toes
you shrug into the din, cup your sideburns
frequencies cascading under your skin—
I’m nine, taunting mom with wit I earned
over tin can stoves and licorice landlines
how to whittle a rabbit, clean a rabbit
your shadow swallowing the pantry vents
lurching, collarbones beaded with saliva
hands swimming over the kitchen laminate
blood wrung from one ear, your rifle-side ear.
The melamine counter stripes your forearms
I want to iron them with Lake Michigan
but all I do is ask for the check while you piss.