Today is The Hunter’s last Valentine’s Day.
Let the record show how
eight decades of sweet talk and banter
are lavished tonight on The Parcae, "
three kindly, hygienic females who sponge
and diaper, tucking him in, fluttering out.
They’ll be back soon with the shears.
Let the record show the lifelong Hunt
for pubis or bum, desire’s rude triangles,
almost a heart.
This is the house The Hunter built. Let the record show
The Three-Cornered Home for The Wife,
The Girlfriend he cheated on The Wife with,
and The Other Girlfriend he cheated on
The Cheating-on-The-Wife Girlfriend with.
Note the separate studio for that ever-popular
girl group, The Incidentals.
Let the record show The Hunter is still beloved.
Taped to the blank TV screen,
item, one hand-made valentine (from artist girl-friend)
item, one comic valentine (from witty girl-friend).
Perched on the narrow white bed,
item, one daughter.
The Hunter whimpers without waking,
I want my mommy. Is love,
that ruthless, that simple?
Let the record show.
