small game hunters

a poem inspired by Rilo Kiley's song "Portions For Foxes."

This mess is splattered on the daily news

Spread and splayed across the bone cold tabletop.

Table for two.

And it’s bad and bad and bad.

I don’t love you.

But

You’re a nice distraction, a way to get some relief

From this howling

lone wolf loneliness.

The lights flash on and off

Lightning flashes but no newsflash

Just highlights of our self-destruction.

Eating away at us.

At you and I.

 

The fox crouches over our eggs and burnt toast.

Not-rightness gnaws at our hearts and one day we’ll be nothing

But the crooked bones of heartache.

Trussed up with sleeping half-smiles on our taxidermied faces

On display, what a fine display.

Beautiful pristine foxes.

 

But before it’s done it’s okay, it’s okay.

Nothing says quite so much (or so little) as sex

But

it’s bad and bad and bad.

I’m bad for you, you’re no better for me.

One day she arrived and was there and so you had her

 

Ate her up, licked your lips, satiated

Temporarily.

I watched and did nothing, said nothing.

My mouth rusted on its hinges, angry blood pooling

from the scraping and wrenching to say…say what?

Say nothing because

I would have done the same.

 

Loneliness is

bad and bad and bad.

Excise the image of (himandher) (herandhim) from my mind and replace it

with the soft fluff

Of feathers. Light as a feather remedies,

but we are remedy-less.

 

It’s bad and bad and bad.

I want you anyway.

Come here anyway.

Let’s be alone together.

Because we’re already dead.