I never loved you, you know.
I couldn’t stand your bulbous nose
or straw-like hair.
And your cooking?
I’ve tasted better eggs
in swamps. Laid by frogs.
You always said we’d go to space,
but that was ridiculous. You’d
barely make it to McDonalds
before you started complaining.
How could you ever make it to the moon
when you’d turn around so fast?
They’d say, 10…9…8… and you’d
change your mind like that.
I always hated that about you.
Oh, and how could I forget
all those times you said you’d clean up
only to make it worse. I swear
wolves bred with raccoons couldn’t
make a bigger mess than you.
The Tasmanian devil wishes he could
throw his underwear on the ground
as fast as you could. Always after
I’d just finished vacuuming too.
I’d say you were psychic but
then you wouldn’t have lost
all our money.
Do you know what I’ll miss least?
Your hyena laugh. You didn’t light
up a room you cleared it out.
No one could stand your cackle.
You sounded like a cat got stuck
in a whale’s throat before it
started singing German opera.
Downright evil. Diabolical.
God doesn’t give with both hands,
but he must have had to to fit your
ridiculous lungs in your tiny chest…
I’ll miss you,
Eitan Perlin studied mathematics and philosophy, but found a love for poetry in the pandemic. He works full time in a small consulting company in the DC area. He has been published in Klio, Prospectus, Wingless Dreamer, and Just Femme and Dandy.