On Looking so Bored

Poem based on a snippet of conversation at home

Sitting, drinking,
She asked if swallowing a cigarette
would kill a tapeworm.
I wondered where she heard it, likely not,
a big reader, but stranger things have happened.
"Yes," I said, "probably"
and then something about how a concentrated dose
of something noxious
could tear out that little bit of evil
growing inside.
"Yes, well, I like that," she said, hint of smiling,
her eyes sharp and clear,
and bluish.
Then,
"I bet you know all about that sort of stuff,"
and she stood up without clarifying which part.
I wondered if she meant to be insulting,
or, if
I was justified in feeling a little insulted.
She then returned to her boyfriend's arms,
peered into his soggy half slits,
tiny bit of evil, maybe,
pragmatic consideration, quite possibly.