An old woman likes to melt her husband. She puts him in
a melting device, and he pours out the other end in a hot
bloody syrup, which she catches in a series of little husband
molds. 

  What splatters on the floor the dog licks up. 

  When they have set she has seventeen little husbands.
One she throws to the dog because the genitals didn't set
right; too much like a vulva because of an air bubble. 

  Then there are sixteen naked little husbands standing
in a row across the kitchen table. 

  She diddles them and they produce sixteen little erections. 

  She thinks she might melt her husband again. She likes
melting him. 

  She might pour him into an even smaller series of husband
molds . . .

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 1489 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Russell Edson
Poem: The Melting
Volume: Ploughshares
Poem of the Day: Jun 28 2005
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