I can't think of a way to tell her I want her dead
And then want to feast on her flesh
Where it lies in ribbons on the cold, wet Earth
All red and pink against the ashen dirt
Of the solemn, saturnine forest
After being torn off
By stray dogs.
So instead I say
It was rude of me not to thank you in person
For lending me the bike pumpー
Still cursing under my breath.