Monday, August 29, 2016

Born with nothing to lose 

Born smart
born happy
but surrounded 
by the deliverer, that dull dumb mean one 
(her muumuu tied around your throat)
in two rooms.

Your baby shoes, the tv guide,
the tv dinner, your first and last  
job application (not filled out, already rejected) 
on the tv tray.

Sooner or later you’ve got to get in the way
or else become a helper, committee member, tv starer, 
facebook follower, church youth camp macrame mentor,
good deed runner.

Or—you get way out of the way
and run like hell. 

Thursday, August 18, 2016

That’s no music for LIFE

I don’t even drink anymore
I rode the alcohol to get off the pain
and for me it was a Tilt-A-Whirl
with a permanent ticket, so I got off,
but since I do care about others 
why is the liquor store CLOSED 
at nine at night around here and all day Sunday?

Don’t say that, because everyone knows God likes a drink.  

God drinks it all in
all our restrictions, in His name 
swishes it around in the God mouth, spits it out and says—
don't look at me 
and who's to say I'm a He? 

God drinks, drank, gets d r u n k 
every time they put their cold clammy ecclesiastical 
inquisitional hands 
on that pipe

Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Boy Scouts of America
(and elsewhere) 

She shot me with the novocaine
the warmest funniest woman 
my new Cuban dentist friend
then she told me in a nutshell 
as I went numb
about her life of limits, from
grandfather to father to husband;  
she couldn’t do anyone’s teeth 
couldn’t deaden a man’s mouth 
in Cuba. 

But that's over; in a nutshell—she ended it. 

I asked for another two shots
of novocaine, because I couldn’t take it
then I lay there in the chair and thought
(as she whistled, getting her silver diggers 
and pokers out of the autoclave)
of all she’d had to take 
because of misogyny. 

Some men are gonna need surgery. 
Maybe even a dictionary.