September 2012

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.