I’d like to strangle! If only I bought
a wide-tooth comb to pull out
the knots that made a home
in my hair, then I’d shed him
as fleas in a quick sneeze.

He is the Trash
I should have put out last night. But I
was red-eyed and tired. Everything
expired and smelled like rotten eggs, moldy
cheese and sour grapes.

He is a Molotov cocktail
I shouldn’t have mixed. But then
I was fixed on him. He blew up in
my face. And I splattered like cake batter
with the beater on high. Stuck to the ceiling
and dried. None can scrape me off -
with only a wet cloth.