Pets, 11:18, & Wastepaper Waltz by Aidan Demmers
Pets
I am a consummate expert in termites.
I know how to make them fall in love—
to soothe me nightly with covetous little bites
until I’m sure that I’m palatable, worthy of
digestion. Anything can be carnivorous,
as it turns out. Anything can grow mandibles
if tempted long enough. It’s an exchange of lust:
the ecstasy of devolving into an animal
and the pleasure of being the most intact,
of watching your new pet with parental eyes
as it slavers over the chunks it hacked
from your thigh. One piece of advice—
A pet like that never stops being obsessed.
Remember, at any point, it may revert to a pest.
11:18
a gel of rain shifts
down the windscreen.
the wipers wait, stick-thin
arms poised to do
their work. beyond the reach
of their fingertips
water crusts. rivulets snake
through, quicker than
blood, tinged septic
by the light my
mother left on so i
wouldn’t have to fumble
with keys. my dog
gave birth today and i woke
up to you saying it’s nine-
thirty, baby, and three
nights ago maggots fell
from the ceiling and onto my
bed. the shadow of
rain on the dashboard looks
like fifty fingertips pressing
into my windshield,
but outside there is just
rain, and the light
my mother left
on. the mitsubishi
badge on the steering
wheel is pointed
towards the rear-view
mirror. the car smells like
nothing, because
my father took my air
freshener down,
and the vanilla sachet under
my seat stopped
working seven
months ago. all the mirrors
show various squares
of grey. the
sky is very nearly
white, and it is very
nearly the twelfth of
October,
and rain clings
like glow-
worms to the
driver’s
side window,
feeding
off the light left
on by my
mother.
Wastepaper Waltz
Have you ever waltzed
with a wastepaper lover?
Taken his thin limp hands
and drawn him
along to your favourite
tempo? You smile at him,
and he can’t smile back,
and you know that he
is perfect. He smells
like a fresh pillow,
a wiped window. You lead
him gently through the day.
Take his hand, and show
him to your friends, who
approve of the way he tilts
his head back,
and the smooth line of his
throat. It is easy to leave
him and mingle with
others. It’s alright.
He won’t watch you.
You won’t look up
to find him looking back.
And when the day is done,
when you are ready
to take a ball of steel wool
and strip your first three
layers of skin, do the same
to him, and he will simply
flake into dainty white
scraps that can be easily
composted for
worms.
You won’t find more from Aidan on Social media :(
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