by Gerald Lange
It’s a little ant (actually quite large) that crawled out of her and came to live on the pillow. It’s been there for some time now, weeks as a matter of fact, and I’ve brought the situation up with her several times but she pays no attention to me. I really don’t know what to do.
It’s just a little ant (actually quite large), perhaps if I just pinched it between my fingers the problem would be solved. But she’d know of course, it wouldn’t just disappear, she’d wonder where it went, she’d begin questioning me and what could I say. But then, it did crawl out of her, that isn’t right, and just what was it doing in her cunt anyway. What kind of ant is that! Living in a cunt all that time, it’s enough to make you wonder. A man has some rights.
I came home last night and there it was sitting on the couch with her and watching TV. That’s strange don’t you think. Of course it’s growing bigger. Big as a dog. Hideous. Eats its food sideways, can you imagine that! Still, I knew this would happen. I knew it from the moment I saw it peek its head out. I knew this would all happen. Why it’s a god damn monster that’s what it is, I’m living with a fuckin monster right under my roof and my wife couldn’t even be concerned! Why she actually likes the thing, like it was human or something.
Yesterday I was thinking maybe I should buy a football. I could teach it some of the basic plays. Get up a neighborhood game. That little son-of-a-bitch can move. Strong as an ox too.
Gerald Lange lives in Wisconsin and has published poems in many small magazines. (Spring 1975)