I took all the free samples
at the chocolate shop
even though the lady
behind the counter frowned
after my first handful
and tried to wrest
the basket from my grip. I walked out
without buying a single chocolate,
though I had sat there for hours
sipping hot water through a straw.
I know what you think: I give Jews
a bad name, even though I’m small
and furry like a nice pet,
except for the hackles
and jagged teeth,
which sometimes wound my lips.
At the diner I asked so many
questions about the dinner specials
the waitress never came back to our table
and I haggled with a spider
over the cost of a fly
for so many hours he dropped
from exhaustion, breaking
into tears. And I demolished
a whole chicken, but didn’t
empty the bones
from the plate in the Fridge.
I did it: I broke a seal,
stuck the label on the sink,
called you sweetie
when I meant something else.
No, this was not shame
or guilt. It was not
the usual desire to punish. I did it
quick as a passing thought.
The dog couldn’t believe
my audacity, and howled
for help. The canary wrote
a letter to our congressman,
complaining about the state
of the union, spitting out seeds
as she spoke. I left the seat up,
a trail of yellow drips,
my piss sweet as a valentine
burning the tiles.