Suburbia

We watch each other
with borgia eyes
at breakfast
I awaiting my chance
to stab you with
the strychnine coated fork
beside the toast rack
you carefully scrambling cyanide
into my eggs.
Neither of us touches the jam.
I've spiked it with prussic acid
and you
when you thought I was distracted
slipped in a capsule
of rattlesnake venom.
The only thing
I feel safe
about putting in my mouth
anymore
is your tongue
as we kiss a fervent
heartfelt goodbye
at the front door
when I head for the office.
Everything else is suspect
and doubtless you've toyed
with the idea
of somehow poisoning
that kiss too.
No matter.
Each of us has
an innate instinct for survival
among bland manicured lawns
This gives life
some spice.
Cheerio, dear.
See you tonight...