Louise peered into the corner of the cabinet
of fossilized delights: mandragon manikin, a dried mermaid,
assorted dog barks of crass appetites.
It was six and dark early. Don’t forget numbers, Ham said,
are only examples: one and two with their sterile marriage,
three with its tattooed face. That year the gifts were lustrous:
a bear with the head of a horse, small nipples, flowers
in its ears. Louise said, Who doesn’t love
the sound of scissor snips and free-for-all terms of endearment?
The dog, they named Lucky
To Be Alive, and refused to let it be altered.