Eitan Perlin

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,

Love Eitan

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.

Sara Watkins
This Isn't About My Snake Plant