Olivia O’Toole
Daffodils // Pinning them up on my clothesline // Wind-powered pinwheels // Poison // Having the ugliest yard in the whole subdivision // Ultrasonic devices // Castor oil and water // Blasting broadly Christian nondenominational sermons while I wash my car in the driveway // A gravel-filled trench, dug around the perimeter of my yard // Wire mesh // Harpoons // Scissors // Double-piercing their ears // Choker loop traps // Microaggressions // Leaving shopping carts out to their parking lot pasture // Macroaggressions // An in-ground pool // Marigolds // A slip-’n’-slide // Playing my flute near the river // Marshmallows // Not voting // Hosting a barbecue for my amateur taxidermist friends // Firing a shotgun straight into the ground // Pouring soapy water into their tunnels when I’m finished washing my car in the driveway // Alliums // Moles are actually good for soil aeration and insect control // But their mounds are so unsightly // Warm-blooded phalanges sift through abandoned tulip bulbs, bumping into sprinkler heads and buffalo nickels // Landmines
Olivia O’Toole is a poet from the Midwest. She loves buying notebooks and being outside.
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TRASH CAT LIT 