For the Stain She Left on his Pants

In dark purple moments of midnight,
she never prays but says to herself
she'd like to have a tongue-glove compartment
with cyanide where her wisdom tooth was,

except for the paper mâché
thingamabob on her dresser
next to the first bottle she warmed
when midnight was a lullaby

and wasn't the scuff of a leather heel
when the bedroom door slammed Shut!
Up! like a jackhammer up her ass
for the grease stain left on his pants.

Madeline thought she had seen it all,
but later that night at the door
a kitchen knife in the one hand tore
Raggedy Andy in the other.