"Parasite" by Irene M. Vallone
I’ve been staying with you long enough
that the least I could do is mow the lawn.
I follow the curve of the front street corner
and your striping advice in the back.
You tell me it’s good to have
another man around.
When I come out to you,
you tell me it’s a bad time
and go back to cleaning.
I scrub the counters hungry
and count my insect bites
as you wash the insides
of the windows, so we can see
what you own from outside.
That night, your daughter sings to me
while I shave my legs in the tub.
The strings around her bones
remind us which are owned
and which are borrowed.