Deus Ex Machina

When the pills run out you can say the devil
with things, but there are eyes in that, too.
So how does one tell the man of the house

about the rest? The rabbit behind the couch,
the fox in the sink, the satyr of sheets. I am
the Ruler of Dishes here. Napkins fold under

my command. I eat the wife of chairs with flare
and keep time by ruined meals. But Mother
Gorgon never said I was the mortal one, that I

could not run a brush through hair. Use mirrors.
Or what to do when there’s no milk. And when
it happens only an act of God keeps me from

baking my head into the cake. Keeps the tail-
pipe nipple from this mouth. Razor’s laugh at
this. But He’ll require something in return. House

calls aren’t cheap. Only the shopping’s not done.
What then, the cat? My firstborn? A spray of
seed over the altar of laundry? I’m expecting Him

soon. And when He comes the great wall above
me cracks, a white light breaks through, and I
stand, dying plant under arm, but I do not start.