My name is Mothereal Mandible, but most just call me “Moth Man” or “Oh my God, what the fuck is that”. Of the two nicknames, I prefer the former. 

When I was younger, I was in all the gifted programs. I excelled in fostering terror and distress. They told me I was going places—wild, exotic places. West Virginia, Eastern West Virginia, the whole state was going to know my name.

I’m not equivocating because, obviously. She was a gardener, though, right? She won that flower thing at the community center back in ’87 and then again in ’93? Now isn’t the time, but there are almost certainly legions more, dead from the pitiless blade of your grandmother’s trowel. I know, I know, I know I shouldn’t bring it up here.

Appetizers

The Seven Dwarves
A classic. Dwarves are deep-fried in ale batter

Fairy Godmother Wings
Spicy and hot, request boned or boneless.

So, here’s my plan:
let’s fight all wars with old men now.
At the point diplomacy breaks down,
let a battlefield be agreed on,
and liberally strewn with porta-potties.

You are kingpin to my comfort,
my non-back-and-leg pain, my sleep
with deep dreams.
I’m sorry, it’s only when you get out of line that I notice you.