Frozen Exit

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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