There’s always been a boat in your footprints.
Maybe that’s why
you like to steal my thunder
so you don’t get caught in the middle of it.
I walked in on your mother
sewing anchors into your sock linings one day
so I swallowed them whole when she wasn’t looking.
They bedded themselves to my insides.
I spent 6 months passing them through my system
but don’t think I did that just for you.
I’ve always had an iron deficiency.
It makes me do strange things.
Like chew ice.
And lick the rust off a robot
who swears like a sailor.