The Veterinarian Tells Me a Story

Already in love with the thing,
never to take it back,
though her nose sneezed
and she hived that first night—
but still she skirts toward
the cage the next morning
with oven glove and snorkel mask,
tying tissue over top of hose,
itching to fight, squeezing the mitt,
inching forward like us once hurt,
and goddammit, still trying.


I wish we'd met while it lived; that it had taught me moth-tongue.


As a child, when I wanted
cheese, I asked for Kraft or Velveeta.