Husband on Ice – Anne Walsh Donnelly

He’d shoot curdled cream up my cervix

and roar, you’re mine, till death.


He’d bought me a coffin

kept it in the hayshed for storing calf nuts,

until –  it was needed.


I put rat poison in the lamb casserole,

froze the leftovers.


When I decluttered the wardrobe

the door slammed,

Pick my shirts off the floor, bitch.


Finally his voice withered

when I defrosted the freezer.

I gave his fingers to the dog.


The rest of him, too tough even for a stew,

I threw in the stove, lit lavender

candles to mask the smell.


His penis was the last to burn

no more forced entries after that.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *