Flatworm: a love poem involving the X-Files
The monster in episode two part man
part flatworm a gaping hole for a mouth
makes no sound only follows its barbs
searching the calm green water for bodies
to suckle He’d love this I say to no one
in my apartment
about my girlfriend’s child
who comes over on weekends
I watch TV alone sew shut the torn thorax
of the boy’s favorite stuffed ant
stupidly thinking he’ll notice the care
involved. Could I be like my own father?
I ask and TV my oracle replies:
The Truth is out there.