Cameron Morse

Cheese Grater

You pick up shreds
from the block

I’m shredding.
You sit on my lap and pick

at the plate, the table,
the grate, and when

the waxy yellow brick
crumbles down to one final

clump I can’t grate
without grating

my fingertips,
you pick up that as well.

Don’t Even (Think About It)

We have children to protect ourselves
from having to be
alone. I remove the rubber plug
from your mouth
because I’m tired of talking
to myself, a pastime I’ve engaged in
since I was 17 years old.
Meanwhile, you strip the name tag
off every flower and shrub. Without me,
you would run naked
through the sprinkler. You would
pee on the bathroom rug.

Flyswatters

Killing a fly requires too much
patience when all you want
is my flyswatter, not your flyswatter,
not the one I wash for you; you’re
not even two and I’m afraid
of you because you
walk on as if we didn’t have to get back
in time for breakfast.

Dadgum

Dad gone
during a game of peek-a-boo
disappeared
behind his own hands.

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