You can’t handle the toesies!

Sophia: You want the toesies?
Victor: I think I’m entitled.

Sophia: You want the toesies?
Victor: I want the toesies!
Sophia: You can’t handle the toesies!

Victor: *gasp - passes out*
Sophia: I did warn him…

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Celebrate Poetry Month

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0
by Hailey Leithauser

Philosophic
in its complex, ovoid emptiness,
a skillful pundit coined it as a sort
of stopgap doorstop for those
quaint equations

Romans never
dreamt of. In form completely clever
and discrete—a mirror come unsilvered,
loose watch face without the works,
a hollowed globe
from tip to toe
unbroken, it evades the grappling
hooks of mass, tilts the thin rim of no thing,
remains embryonic sum,
non-cogito.