HORSE AND CART
Lactose deprived, small wished,
lumpy as a snowball in May,
I take the heat out of the kitchen,
convince a platoon of snails
to stay inside; outside, Lakshmi,
Rex defender of the hutch, growls
three jays skyward.
It is time to stop thinking
ill of Descartes. He never stole
my lunch money, or wrote
I hate you I hate you I hate you
in 36-point Palatino
across the parietal lobes
of the entire ninth grade.
He never said, "Never say never,"
while sucking his thumb
during a Nike commercial.
He just sat there, be-ing through
the centuries, inky squidges
framing the frame. I blink,
care for my tan, email a message
home: milk, butter, eggs:
feed the head that heeds you.