December starving, throat yowled mute, big eyes
beside his garbage chute; he picks you up,
in just one hand, pinstriped, bowtied,
a civilized man. His warm fingers cup
you scruff & bones, a stunted youth he thinks
he owns. A baby beast he takes to train —
emaciated, broken brain. You slink
inside his ordered life, penthouse constrained
feral child wife with claws he files & paints
pale pink, instincts he hopes become extinct:
predation, fornication, chewed through restraints,
ingratitude & nude complaints. Your blink
& thighs belie the fangs, you hide, full grown.
He would have let you starve if he had known.
Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola and a sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked magazines like Five: 2: One, Glass, Anti-Heroin Chic, Occulum, Luna Luna, Yes, Former Cactus and many more. Her chapbook Pink Plastic House is available from Maverick Duck Press, and she has two forthcoming: Pensacola Girls (Bone & Ink Press, Sept 2018) and Shakespeare for Sociopaths (The Hedgehog Poetry Press Jan 2019). She also has a full length forthcoming Candy Cigarette (The Hedgehog Poetry Press April 2019). Follow her on Twitter: @lolaandjolie, her weekly poetry column (Rhythm & Bones Lit) and her website (kristingarth.wordpress.com).