Monday, April 29, 2013

Wild Sex at the Supermarket Bakery Counter

She said
I want it

I want it now
Right now
Right here
In front of everyone

Who cares?
I’m beyond caring
I only know what
I want

What I need
What I have needed
For as long as I remember

Give it to me



Monday, April 22, 2013

Looking for Words

They straggled in looking bored
Three girls and a boy
The boy carrying a skateboard
“Leave that outside, please”

The boy mumbles “Geez”
The girls disappear in the stacks
The only evidence of their presence
The sound of the gum they smack

There’s a stealthy feel
To their listless meandering
Are they here to steal
Or do they hope to find porn?

Haven’t they heard of the Internet?
Ignoring the card catalogue
The girl in grunge runs her fingers
Along a row of reference books

I leave the desk and ergonomic chair
My bunker in this small library
And walk to where they loiter
The boy turns to look at the air

"May I help you find something?"
I say, being helpful with grammar
The grunge girl looks at me boldly
“Where’s your thesaurus at,” she says

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Memories of Grammar School

It wasn't a sharp stabbing pain
It was a pressure
In the middle of my chest
That became a throbbing pain
Radiating up my left carotid artery
And into my left shoulder

But now I have
Those stabbing pains
Some are soft little stabs
Like the girl with pigtails
At the next desk
Stabbing me with her pencil

She didn't break the skin
Or only a little
But it hurt nonetheless
And the girls at that age
Were often bigger than the boys
And even if they weren't

You weren't allowed to hit them
Although they hit me
And each other
And their brother
(I went to a rough grammar school)
But I digress

I'm feeling stress
Now that I've had my heart attack
I lack the courage to say "what the hell"
To the occasional stabbing pains
In my chest
Under the left rib

They scare me
And cause me pause
I make my breathing shallow
And I look for a place to sit
And wish it never happened
And wait for it to go away

But it never really goes away
It's always there
Under my ribs
Or in the middle
Of my back

And I take a deep breath
To check on it
See if the pain is still there
And just when I think it's gone
It hits me again
Like regret

Saturday, April 20, 2013

And it all seemed so foreign

The names are odd
With letters you don't pronounce
And they came from places
With names you can't pronounce
And they did things
You can't fathom
And it all seemed
So foreign
And it's not

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Collateral Damage

I couldn't give a fuck about your Second Amendment
What I care about are dead kids
Kids that you and your fucking NRA
Consider collateral damage in your fight
To preserve something that ceased to matter
After standing armies and nuclear weapons

You fucking idiots
Dead kids aren't collateral damage
Dead kids are people's children
People's children killed by guns
That you assholes say
Don't kill people

Well, fuck you!
Fuck your paranoid myths
And Fuck the NRA

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Three Thousand, Four Hundred, and Thirty-Seven

Three thousand, four hundred, and thirty-six
Shooting deaths since Sandy Hook
In America
The land of the free
and the home of
the well armed

By the end of this
warm, sunny spring Sunday
the death toll will reach
Three thousand, four hundred, and sixty-six
If we're lucky and don't have
another mass shooting

Because we the people
have our guns
and stand our ground
and don't take no shit
and live in the land of the free
and the home of the well armed

Three thousand, four hundred, and sixty-seven

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Show and Tell

Now he takes his stored up anger
and his mother’s guns
the ones he shot with her
and the one he shot her with
and drives to the school
that he attended when he was a kid
to kill the kids who laughed
at stuff he didn’t get
and the teachers
who taught him to read and write
and watched him wait to get out

And he never brought the guns
but he thought about it
over the years that weighed upon him
as he wondered why he never
left the school
or the fear and shame
but only the school room
and school yard
and kids and teachers
where he was headed now
with his stored up anger

Now he takes his stored up anger
and with his mother’s gun
blasts away the doors that lock him out
and walking down the hall
remembering being locked out
feels the power he never felt
in all those days of watching others
laughing at stuff he didn’t get
and laughing at him
or looking at him
or looking away from him

And he never brought the guns
and they never knew who he was
and now they look at him
and they scream
and blood is everywhere
and he wonders what they feel
and each time he pulls the trigger
he remembers those school days
waiting for show and tell
and he never brought the guns
but now he has