Upon the Disappearance of Zanky Muldoon
Upon discovering the disappearance of Zanky Muldoon,
We sleep in our outerwear.
We ponder the whistle
Evading our pork,
as we chase it around the yard,
Squealing.
Upon waking to the knowledge
That Zanky has parted,
We must ask our children,
"Did you eat him?
Did you dunk him in the toilet?
Did you hack into hotmail.com
and delete the account?"
Our children just stare,
smile,
laugh,
cry,
run away
and hide.
"Mommy and Daddy are insane,"
They tell the neighbors,
Who stare at us in the night
through curtains drawn,
leaving only a crack.
Zanky was muffin, undoubtedly.
Zanky was the ratio
of embolisms to synapses
inside the noodle of Cob.
But Zanky was also our wrench.
Zanky was also our salad on sober days,
our contagious meddling on nights without z.
We wonder, Zanky, are you billowing?
Does your sail leave a mark
on the sky,
as you pass under clouds
of imponderable ale?
Do you set the moon on edge
The way, when you took all of our skin with you,
you did us?