“Molothrus ater”
Also known as the brown-headed cowbird. Also known, like the cuckoo, as brood parasites.
They lay their eggs in another’s nest—babies-demand-more-and-more-food parasites.
Wake up in the morning with a headache from the vodka you imbibed
to recklessly
make yourself a lover inside the blanket. Pull wool over your head anyway, hooded parasite.
Last night, even drunk, you remembered to check the locks. Centuries ago, your OCD
would have branded you melancholic, full of black bile—either way, you’re screwed, parasite.
The hand you check the locks with spasms as you make hangover-omelets,
downward spiral,
earn a knife cut on your thumb—squeeze out drops, a Seymour-feeding-his-blood parasite.
You did it to yourself. The door is safe-locked but the wrist is numb-fire, seared-ice, like your
heart, back before you swapped the cells to hatch Hamlet to Ophelia—oh, chewed-up parasite.
At urgent care, they place a brace on your torn tendon and you pretend you’re in a pond.
The cowbird replaces another egg while thought-you drowns herself, Sami—two good parasites.
