Honey

Mama’s Honey lived next door.

He slid under cracks when he came to visit,

when she wasn’t looking.

Mama’s Honey made her swing

and sway, and he closed the door

to her playpen.

But he still slid under cracks

when she wasn’t looking.

He two-timed Mama

when she wasn’t looking

and slid on the floor buzzing

like an electric eel,

hissing with his tongue searching,

leaving his wet trail on cotton-

frayed skin. And always

when Mama wasn’t looking.

Mama’s Honey moved in to stay.

And she gave him keys

and money to buy her things,

and she thought she could keep him

in her playpen,

and stop him sliding under cracks

when she wasn’t looking. But

Mama’s Honey hated her

after a time

and shoved his keys in her eyes

which didn’t really matter

when she wasn’t looking,

and he slid under cracks

calling and searching

for the cotton-frayed skin, the white

cotton skin, and he tore it open

with his hissing tongue and slid

into a new crack just discovered and

Mama’s Honey poured his hot sticky blood

into the cotton cracks, the white

cracks, the baby-new skin, until it ran

through the fibers like watercolours, and

there was no more white,

and he wriggled away to his sweet sticky sleep, to rest

for the next day’s sliding. And all

when Mama wasn’t looking.

Mama didn’t look. A lot.