ice road

i have no idea where
my manhood is going.
he's got cargo.
he's eating bbq ribs 
as he drives
& licking his fingers.
once, i shot him through the head
but he just kept going. for me
a gender is always something hunted.
i carry a pitch fork.
i set traps. i'll try 
the nice guy routine &
i'll put on a football game
& pretend to be watching.
yes we could get along.
maybe this is a place i could
settle into. then something brushes
my skin wrong & i am running again.
he needs to be useful.
that is his biggest flaw. 
utility should never
be sacrificed for glamour.
glamour is where
the witchcraft is.
he chooses roads of ice.
headlight like blooming skulls.
chewing the inside
of his mouth. everything is
a close call. a wife on the line.
the wife is me. i stand at the sink
& see the snow coming down.
manhood is not coming home tonight.
relief pours over me.
i get to be giddy. i get to be
empty of delivery. instead 
i get to eat the ceiling again.
when he gets home he'll ask,
"how did this happen?"
i'll wipe my chin & say,
"i was hungry 
& you weren't here."