To the Lobster We Cooked at Kenyon

 

In Ohio,

I taught another writer

 

how to kill.

 

How to divide

your tail

 

like a country.

Split open.

 

The butt of knife

a new baton

 

Your insides ran

and I don’t blame them.

 

And he said: slaughter

And I said: dinner.

 

And it didn’t change

a thing.

 

And I don’t know

if I should be sorry or jealous.

 

At least it was quick.

Meal to mouth.

 

Your blood

bright red eulogy

 

we covered

with a lid.