The poem is tiny, but it leaves a lot of room for unease. Its first lines state a plain, almost comic fact: a tick doesn't care that the person it bites is married. That's true, of course. A parasite has no interest in human bonds or status. But the odd phrasing makes us stop and wonder why marriage comes up at all. Perhaps the speaker is thinking about how intimate, private things, like a partner's body, are open to small invasions no promise can prevent.
Then the poem turns sharply. "Finding her face / under the bed" is jarring, and it's hard to picture. The line break makes "her face" feel detached, almost like a lost object, as if something has slipped out of its place. The poem doesn't explain it, and that gap is the point. The mood is uncanny and quietly creepy, mixed with dry, deadpan humor. The speaker sounds calm, but the images suggest vulnerability, strangeness inside ordinary domestic life, and how little control we have over our own bodies.