Slaughterhouse on 2nd Avenue
she lays a corpse on the doormat,
and today it’s a gutted rabbit.
She has chewed the skin off its skull,
ingested its eyes, its ears, and its tongue.
I lift the soft murderess from the porch,
and she hums in my arms.
I ask her to stop. “Please. No more killing.”
She licks her paws and looks at me
and says, “You stop.”
a penis and balls
on the garage door|
of House B.
wants to know
if any occupants
of House A
were out last night
Absolutely not, says House A
Andrew Nye is a poetry editor for Blue Earth Review at Minnesota State University Mankato where he also teaches English composition and studies creative writing in the MFA program. His poems and reviews have appeared in various publications, including Cold Green Tea Press, ANON Magazine, Hoarse, and The Corresponder.