Love's Metamorphosis as a DeWalt Screw Drill
Charlotte Pence

When I worry my marriage may one day end,
I imagine a love that whines and purrs, strips on occasion,
grows hotter in the hand and is a school-bus yellow,
boxy, but smooth at its job.  Never does it turn
its own self on, butwhen it starts, it’s gone,
pulsing the hardest exactly where it needs.
It has no home for shame, only speeds,
shifts from one to the next with ease as soon as pushed.
It is not patient, nor kind; it grinds its needy steel spiral
and high pitches out a single word: M-e-e-e!
It scares dogs, deafens children, and collects
the hungry growls of one hundred tiny turns,
demanding me to worry how my marriage may one day end.


Previously Published in Spoon River Poetry Review

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