To the Lobster We Cooked at Kenyon


In Ohio,

I taught another writer


how to kill.


How to divide

your tail


like a country.

Split open.


The butt of knife

a new baton


Your insides ran

and I don’t blame them.


And he said: slaughter

And I said: dinner.


And it didn’t change

a thing.


And I don’t know

if I should be sorry or jealous.


At least it was quick.

Meal to mouth.


Your blood

bright red eulogy


we covered

with a lid.