Consider my floating vengeance
His mind is manning a tugboat on the Baltimore Bay,
trapping crabs with steam, wet bread, and buoys.
Where are those repeated pearls when it's time to produce?
Hands behind back, neither weighted with prize.
He’s one mouth scream away from leaving Mary,
who gave him two baby girls and a hatchback.
Mary, who dragged a stained white couch
and wooden adornments behind her till she got married.
Fate was decided for her when she finally understood
that she was meant to be good, stop smoking,
and take leave to her brain palace compositions.
Her mind is walking on the Brooklyn side of the Hudson,
eating a sandwich with morsels of sharp cheese.
She’s asking passing celebrities to give proof of life
for her third baby girl, who she forgot was dropped
in a spill of objective intestine in the bathroom.
She did the grout work herself.
His mind is still afloat on the Chesapeake,
and maybe they’re both coastal,
but he’s fishing and throwing spices over his shoulder.
He’s teaching his baby girls how to properly eat a crustacean.
(you wedge a knife between small joint plates)
And she is wandering around Brooklyn with her internal starfinder
wishing she had a sixth sense for where all her baby girls went.
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