For the Child Molester
Let him sleep right through it—
thin syringe, everlasting injection.
Then let it hang
like an old wool sock in a closet.
Let him wake like a child
from night terror,
clatter down the stairs,
rush to the toilet
reach for himself with shaking
thumb and forefinger
around the soft base of the shaft.
Let him not even sense the warmth
of urine as it leaves him.
Let him feel like he’s touching
a soft dead bird
in that gray bathroom light.
Let him hunger for his hunger
the rest of his life.
