It is a rabid wolverine trapped
in a mine tunnel under the sink.
It is the misbegotten id of the kitchen.
As it masticates food we wouldn't
touch, it snarls, snorts, and chokes.
It is the lawn-mower's mad cousin
holed up in the gothic under-counter
cabinet with terrible chemicals.
As I stare into the sink's hole,
afraid, I hear the monster lacerating shadows.
I will feed it a fork again one day
because I must.
Hans Ostrom, copyright 2012