At the grocery store I hear the song
we listened to in high school
when we played strip poker in my parents’ car.
I never lost.
Your bravado, your skinny thighs,
your sharp teeth glistening
on the cloven fruit
you passed to me at parties.
But if you’re a newfangled, new-fanged fox –
you’re my kind, scientifically speaking. At family dinners
we will bond over our affinity for killing
what we catch.