Doll eyes, he says
You have doll eyes

Of course.

Glassy, blind doll eyes
waiting for any random child to squeeze me to life

Bring me reaction.

My pupils hold tiny negatives of him.
He checks them for impairment.

Sitting side-by-side on a damp porch step
he tells me the story of the spiders

plunging mouth fangs into live, bound captives
melting and digesting their insides
leaving an empty shell
Brittle, used and dead.

Intact from the outside