DONALD ILLICH

Sugar

PUBLISHED IN FOLIO 2024: VOL. 39.

Yes, I dream of monsters,
but they’re not what you think.

Instead of slobbering fangs,
they give me Lucky Charms,
saying “when” to my milk level.

They don’t creep outside my window,
promising untold horror if I open the sash.
No, they serve me hot dogs for lunch,
fry Italian sausage in the evening.

I guess they sound like culinary assistants.
Creatures who help me with meals
I’m too lazy to prepare.

Except, I look into my arteries.
They’re freezing like a winter river.

Under ice I see blood trickling
to other parts of my body.

Now the monsters offer donuts,
frosted, creamed, sprinkled.
They splash coke into my mouth
to make me happy.

Even when I die,
they’ll keep trying to serve me.
Pour sugar down my unresponsive throat.

Maple syrup covers my skin
like a sarcophagus. My pyramid
is honeycomb.

My book of the dead
can be read on the box of Twinkies,
chemicals that’ll preserve me
for a thousand years.

Donald Illich has published poetry recently in The MacGuffin, Slant, and Okay Donkey. His book is Chance Bodies (The Word Works, 2018). He lives and works in Maryland.