It’s the Circle of Life, Babyyyyy

Mama is being chased by her sons.

Wantsomefuckwantsomefuckwantsomefuck?

I seclude her from the men, in a box

with sixteen of her smallest children. 

They uselessly cram their tiny bodies against 

the sides of the clear plastic prison. 

Mama is coming! She sucks each one up, 

gulp gulp gulp, for cannibal breakfast.

The babies are in mommy’s stomach,

an efficient transition from womb to snack. 

In the kitchen I wash the smell of fish and

murder off my hands with some Ajax Dishsoap.

Victoria Constant