Rubber Chicken
At a dinner party
eating awful
chicken I thought
might be soy,
back when I was a sociologist,
I got seated next to
a dentist who put his hand
on my thigh and asked
what I did,
then, waving his knife,
blamed me
for ruining the world.
Who knew I channeled
Loviatar, daughter
of the god of death,
the one who gives birth
to plague, tries to steal
the sun, moon, and stars.
I said, yeah, that’s me,
and I wasn’t even wearing
a low-cut dress.
Now that I write poems,
it’s not only the dentists
that are off-put
at parties, so yes, I confess.
I did it.
I follow in the footsteps
of those who broke
the line
and stanza.
I killed the world.
Destructive bitch—
my middle name.
I’ve been smashing things up
for years.