Bad Vegan

I feed my cats chicken by the canful.
We kill the ants by poisoning the queen,
drive past each violently droughted yard
while ours gleams like sea glass.

We rescued the first hornworm,
then—more, more—filled a bucket
with soapy water. Drowned them.

We trap and release the first attic rat,
leave him near the stream where we hike—
water, shelter. For the second rat,
we call the exterminators.

Now, my husband wants to put carbon
monoxide down the gopher holes
that pockmark our green lawn.
I cry when he suggests it.

Hypocrite. I don’t want children
of my own, but love my sibling’s child.
He has my grandmother’s chin.

I want more of him. More nephews,
a niece. I want them, but I don’t
want you. I tell my husband

to turn down the sprinklers,
then suggest he wait to kill the gophers
until the next time I’m out of town.

Dale Trumbore is a Los Angeles-based composer and writer whose music has been praised for its “soaring melodies and beguiling harmonies” (The New York Times). Trumbore’s writing can be found in New Delta Review, Southern Indiana Review, and PRISM International, among other journals. Find her music and writing at daletrumbore.com.