By: Abbie Doll
you can go straight to hell
you’re such an ugly thing, and you reek of rot
even while your little nasty heart is still beating
(has anyone ever told you?)
most creatures wait until they die to stink as bad as you.
why do you torment me?
it’s clear you like to lurk in the shadows,
poised where the wall meets the ceiling, crawling along the divide as if it were a runway
pursuing a promenade around the perimeter
but let me make one thing clear, you’re not a victoria’s secret model
and you never will be.
I see you up there, slowly but inevitably inching your way towards me
or centimetering, maybe you subscribe to the metric system, I wouldn’t be surprised
I’m amazed at how hideous you are, your skin the color of bland carpet and walls
a neutral neutered color
agh – get away from me!
I’m not stupid
I know how you like to wait, until I’m least expecting it
and then kick off the wall, pouncing towards me with a backflip
quit pretending you’re the karate kid or some projectile propelled from a wwii bomber
I’ll tell you who’s the enemy here
band of brothers unite
the second you come towards me, it’s personal
you won the battle, but the war’s not over
here, let me introduce you to my trusty thirsty steed –
the household vacuum cleaner
au revior! So long, you tiny menace
next time stay the hell outta my house
you’ve got the whole stinkin’ world outside
how is that not enough?
Abbie Doll is a current student in Lindenwood University’s MFA in Writing program and has served as an Editorial Assistant for The Lindenwood Review. She lives with her husband and two canine companions in Columbus, OH. Her favorite activities include curling up in her hammock with a good read, taking the pups for neighborhood strolls, and experimenting in the kitchen. Her greatest joys in life are traveling the globe and exploring the beautiful intricacies of language.
"In spring and fall, these little menaces love to march their way into my home, wiggling through who knows what to get in. Don't they realize it's a suicide mission? I won't admit to how much time I've spent observing their strange procession. Too much. I realize they're harmless, but that doesn't stop them from being such a nuisance and total distraction. One day it occurred to me that the only way these good-for-nothings could ever be good for something is as fodder for a poem."