by roach

i woke up next to my wife.
“why so early” she asked. the sun had just broke.
her voice so soft and endearing as it always was.
i told her i was excited to try something.

day in, day out, i load the van with sprays, foams, and gels.
jugs and cans, hoses and nozzles, masks and suits.
front and center, i put a new canister.
a fresh concoction with the promise of death and money.

one pull, one sweep, one job done for the day.
it spreads like fog and kills just as fast.
their brown husks, hard and curled.
as each one turned over to die, i smile.

money in hand, i walk back to my van.
i get a call. a job. then a dozen more.
my gloves smell like a faint sour.
and i stopped washing my hands.

i woke up next to my wife.
“early again?” she whined. outside was dark still.
tired and exhausted, she turned her head in her pillow.
i got up to work.

past the dinner table, i stepped on something.
nonetheless, beneath my boot it lie crushed.
under the door, something scurried.
nonetheless, with my hose i sprayed.

when i returned, my son cried.
his new toy was broken, a small plastic car.
i tell him we’ll buy him a new one.
he looks at me with dark glossy eyes.

in my dreams, i am infested.
the walls, the floor, the ceiling.
behind, beneath, and below.
i spray and spray, and the panic stops.

i woke up next to my wife.
she said something between her clicks.
she’s barely awake, it’s hard to tell
and when all i think about is antennae and shell.

work calls, and eagerly i answer.
my boss kept twitching his head.
a coworker scratching his arm.
and i swear i saw something crawl.

i knock on the door, say its me.
beady eyes greet mine, then i blink.
inside, i spray like i spray in my dreams.
infested all around me, and in me.

my home feels short and narrow.
as if between the walls or under the couch.
my children molt from their pajames.
and my wife creeps into bed.

i woke up next to something chittering.
it wore her clothes and stole her face.
it reached for my hand.
and gently i crushed it.

at breakfast they clung to the walls.
their legs clicking, mandibles flexing.
they turned to me with open mouths.
and i fed them what i feed the rest.

the sprayer hummed in my hand.
steady and patient.
every infested room cleansed.
every dark husk lie still.

i check every corner.
behind every crevice.
but it’s funny.
i don’t remember getting ready for work.