Cyborg Wife


Ann came home from the market, with a gun for a hand. I’m not sure the model.

“What’s the deal with that?”

“Truth is I’ve been eyeing it for a long time and I never liked my left hand. It does other things too, watch.”

The gun hand folded open, it was now a shiny metal rake that she used to scratch my back.

I made the soup without carrots, and didn’t mention that they were the main ingredient on the list.

The following afternoon, she was late again, I didn’t think anything of it, until she walked in with half her face robotic. She claimed her new eye could see seven miles.


“Oh, don’t. Just don’t!”

Who am I to judge? I’m on the verge of dying my silver hair.

One night in May, she shot a spider with the gun hand. It was in the corner of the bedroom, descending a silk thread, towards my mouth in the dark.

I woke screaming. Smoke drifting in the bedside lamp light. Ann explained away the need for middle-of-the-night gun shots, and the cat scared half to death. I thanked her, honestly thanked her.

Who would want a spider in their mouth?

I re-plastered the bedroom wall. Accepting her changes. Love is not static.

My legs are now motorcycles. She sits on my shoulders and we take the curvy roads, laughing again like newly weds.


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