Parted Lips

a-POP-olypse

The seats of the minivan burst into flame 

as rabid fragments of monster carrots

feed Death while he

sips a juice box

because Death is a little boy

if Life is a woman

but I am the Future so I don’t get hung up on gender

 

We drive past a park and the grass waves hello

but not the people

they have headphones on

I can’t hear anything except my thoughts

Loud and bright like

Crystal breaking at a yuppy dinner party

 

While Crystal’s in the bathroom

all the guests sing:

(“Crystal is as Crystal does.

Crystal breaks like Bob Dylan

Crystal breaks like a woman”)

Maybe that’s too quiet because all they hear are the

sounds of the

c

a

s

h

register

And the plight of the

Honey

bees

 

My husband and Death can't hear me

My psychologist told me why but I can’t remember what they said

My only recollection is the sound of Crystal crying

 

And the gnawing

 

Crunching

 

Chewing

Screaming

Of Death’s afternoon carrots.