Small Mole
before the world was swept
into neat little piles
of scrolling screens
there was a small mole
blind, deaf, star-nosed
no clothes but dirt
stuck in the primordial
cosmic dust
like an old vagabond lady
pushing a shopping cart
while teen boys test their testosterone
hurling insults like mud clumps
until one of those boys
felt friction and donated seed
to the belly of a mother-to-be
and the daughter was born
and the boy felt pains
and the mole felt warmth
and clawed toward it, desperate
and the boy’s chest burst
as the mole came forth like an infant
xenomorph and felt the world was warm
and muggy like the innards of its soul
and the boy’s daughter cuddled into his burst cavity
trying to survive the blistering cold
of a Hoth-like world