She was a biology major at the local college.
She used to come over and eat my food.
Not that I had much, just some Ramen noodles,
but she would eat them. And take some home.
When we fucked, (it’s the right word),
I would think about her digestive system,
those intestines working on my Ramen noodles.
I had a hard time keeping it going.
I was like some frog she was dissecting.
Finger here, mouth there,
my cock like a Ramen noodle.
She sickened me, the sight of her.
So I stopped calling. But she didn’t.
She kept coming to my window, always late
when she knew I would be writing.
Then she would eat my food again.
Eventually I quit writing,
stayed in my room with the lights out.
It took weeks, but she finally stopped coming
and I went back to writing.
Sometimes the distance
between a poet and a murderer
is small.
Rusty Truck 