This gadget intrudes so nothing else can. It froths
the way a widget froths beer, agitant,
dispenses with the problem of abstinence – don’t –
and plants a dull pea under the mattress.
Childless. Sleepless. Rings on cushions do this too,
in the wilderness I buried my witch’s bottle,
half-full of screws, pins, piss and curse blood,
keeping a promise in a place I’ve forgotten.
A prize in every box! A mine in a mitten. Automated
night-time sprinkler system. The walk-in wardrobe’s
coat-hangers cannon and tinkle, turning to hooks.