Aunt Pizza
This morning,
I woke,
eyes crescent mooned.
In the kitchen,
I found a platoon,
army crawling between
pepperoni and assorted
veggies, gathering intel
for the commanding officer.
My tweezers clinched
between thorax and abdomen,
strapped him down by the neck.
It took three milliliters
from the syringe to
drown his insides.
His dog tags
read:
Red Aunt
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