63



You show up when you want me to help you.

You show up, talking about all you've done,

since the last time you sent me your bio.

You show up, not knowing I have children,

not knowing that I've fed the hungry world,

soothed lions that tumbled in rose bushes,

plucked their thorns and plastered the Komodo,

who, just sleeping in his lair, was scaled

under the chin by the wild lunges 

of one more hero with one more dungeon

and a hex on one more magic chateau.


You show up, still sick, still hunched, and still drooling,

still mooning over your handful of crumbs.



originally published by Electric Literature

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