THE DOMESTICATED COCKROACH 

I’m home, I wish I was, amidst my mess 
and caterwaul, a tiny dungeon filled 
with pain and love and dread I must confess 
to drawing from the walls. It’s only pills 
the doctor said that keep my heart from rot. 
And what about my liver? Gives and gives. 
There’s nothing we can do about it, not 
that we would want to. We briefly lived 
like rich folks, bubbling deep in chemicals 
the pharmeceutical big wigs squeezed firm 
a billion bucks and more from. Tangible 
reactions and I have to do some worm. 
The new domesticated cockroach leaps 
into his master’s lap and licks his teeth.