Daddy collector

It is merely the blind filial obligation
That burst flat between my thumbnails.
I slid out another lice,
He was surely larger and fatter, and so swollen
With blood, that I thought as partly my own.
He wouldn’t fight at all, I knew
As his limbs were already on the verge of catatonia.
I knew, I could let him crawl again
In the little patches of wild black hair.
I could place him gently on the warm baldness,
Where he’ll lay and see the sun by seven in the evening.
I could also leave him in the soft of the carpet,
To be either stomped on or dissolve
Into the oblivion of painted coir.

But daddy is always watching,
Even with his small head backwards and bent down.
And on each stack of fattened bodies,
The kiss on the forehead doesn’t seem as treacherous as before.

Varshini is a 19 year old poet residing in India. She is currently working on her book.