I am saving the cat’s turds
bundled, little bricks of shit
entombed in the extra freezer
awaiting further instruction.
The “For Sale” sign dominates the lawn, life
I wait, collecting.
Your introduction was swift
a bourbon bottle
smashing into the house
announcing arrival at three a.m.
Further introductions include
smouldering cigarettes
pitting the porch with scars
underneath the sleeping babies.
Fire-works and fuck-yous
booming bass stereos
rocking the foundation,
pissing on the Echinacea
My son lovingly planted.
I just read about
Texan neighbours
drawing fire
staring down death
over piles of dog shit.
Insanity, maybe.
The night before we move
at approximately three a.m.
I will pepper your house
in frozen shit
slide it into open windows
behind stereo cabinets
under futons
into exhaust pipes.
My farewell gift,
a lesson in sabotage.
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