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By Jenni O’Rourke

Like tired lovers they come back for more
punishment, spirit crushing, lessons.
Wanton whimscles of anti-pleasure sessions
They bathe in the Windex that I douse them with.
Their baptismal is their burial.

Why do they come back?
So I can exercise power over them?
So they can feel small?
Does the other half of the colony
return to mourn their brothers that
get hosed by Versace perfume?
Do some of them survive, return to HQ,
and bring back more militant to feel
the thrill of escaping the tidal wave
of Lysol Bathroom Cleaner?

I’m not cleaning up the corpses
from my extinguishing efforts.
I don’t always have time.
I can’t work up the gall to buy RAID because

I’m afraid of toxicity.

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