by Tom Bajoras
We were in a strange city, on a strange street
lined with people selling animal parts.
A bearded man shouted something at us,
a single howling vowel that rose and fell
and turned into a cartoon that
landed on your face.
Your head began to shrink.
I tried to peel the ink away,
but it was too late.
You now had the head of a one-year old child.
And you looked at me with an expression
that told me you liked it better this way.