Corn

Not much of what I write is literal,

it’s much easier to let everyone draw their own conclusions about what I’m trying to say.

All anyone can do is speculate.

I hate sitting in class with a professor asking what does this poem mean?

It means exactly what it says on the page and nothing more

but we go hard on talking about all these imaginary metaphors,

the monkey’s ass represents society and the poop he slings represents Capitalism.

One time in ninth grade English class

we all got fed up with anal probing literature

so we decided to be smartasses, and dissect Chicka Chika Boom Boom

as an allegory for the American economy,

a Doll’s House prompted sarcastic misogyny

proclaiming it was all the nurse’s fault,

woman’s job is to make sandwiches and babies,

not to have ideas because the world is so big and scary outside my kitchen,

listen we need to bring your fiancé downtown with us tonight

to watch over us and make sure nothing happens.

Lately you’ve grown to be opinionated,

with often dated points of view I listen to you to be fair

and I’m entreating you to do same:

what the fuck is going on in this country? I wondered aloud,

I used to be proud to call myself an American

and now I am embarrassed,

our government has harassed everyone else incessantly

and honestly I don’t see the logic behind violence—

I mean I understand where it’s coming from

and why we need a military in modern day society,

but rcan’t we evolve beyond this as a way to solve our differences? 

Men talk talk talk about honor

as if they have any slight idea of what it means to be honorable

in terms of human dignity this is all a satire,

the French Revolution is brewing Columbian coffee

I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot,

words always retain their meaning but I didn’t always believe it.

I went through this crisis as a writer

where I was convinced that words were superfluous

that we were meant to move beyond them entirely and maybe we will some day

but there is something in the sound of them

the cadence of rhythm the natural pace at which we speak

and move our hands alternating between eye contact

and imagining something that you are describing

building it in the space in front of you

and nothing exists outside of this conversation

we exist because we are having this conversation

world war three or four could be happening right outside our door and it wouldn’t matter,

I’d lie here naked spread eagled with you

ready for them to come and get us

we are currently witnessing the apocalypse to use your fear mongering term for change,

but I do sometimes when I am driving

get the sense that things are ending

and I am half expecting the undead to come ghouling over the crest of the horizon,

I mistake mailboxes to be people walking in the road

and I momentarily slow down and could smack myself for smiling

for falling asleep and rising each morning when the sun’s still down

it feels early but tell that to the cows

it’s late and they need milking,

wavering like a hot air balloon over the planet

and satellites bouncing signals around the earth to one another,

blinking lights communicate encounters of a foreign kind,

a knightly sigh for the belle dame sans merci buckets

of water carried up the stairs from well to tub to fill the lady for a bath.

They serve Christ Chex halfway through mass,

in Jesus class I used to color all their robes in bright patterns,

make their faces green and grow them long beards,

I remember early on wondering, how do we know we’re right?

and when it came time to be confirmed our parents gave us the choice

and we both said hell no pun intended,

I un-friended Mary on facebook when I found out she wasn’t really a virgin

when Zeus came to earth as a swan it went something like webbed feet on her thighs,

she cries to Joseph who does the honorable shotgun thing

the knee jerk reaction the heel flip and crack jaw the whip,

alligator man ready to gnaw your claws off

and sell you to the circus bug show

they thought they were heroes but what have you done today?

Half a quarter, second stack, bedroom post

knocking against the wall, if all you’re gonna do is play me

then take a number buddy you’re not the only one nor the best,

the rest all flow together in a stream of consciousness,

the reckless abandon of Kerouac’s novels makes them more poetry than anything

but then again that line is always debatable,

put your head on the chopping table

and make yourself available for a few days after taking it in the ass

you’ll be shitting funny cause your butthole muscles can’t clench properly

especially with his rocket ship porn star cock

that thing should come with a surgeon generals warning

and if he reads this I’m sure he’ll know its about him

but don’t flatter yourself Otter you’re not the only one, I’ve lied too.

What happened was I got hurt bad once

and ever since then I decided I would play the damn game better than the boys and I did,

then in college I got bored of that and tried to be faithful to someone for once

and karmically he shit all over me.

I told myself afterwards that I deserved it

for some of the nice-guys I had screwed over in the past

but this string of douchebaggery has lasted longer than I anticipated:

The last guy I went on a date with was pushing forty

and I realized quickly I wasn’t trying to be his midlife crisis,

dude just got out of a divorce was ready to get on my horse

and I was so not having it,

he was definitely attractive but I couldn’t get past it

he kept asking me to send him nudey pics

even though we had never had sex—

you don’t get to see me naked via camera phone

until you’ve seen me in person,

in some other version of this story I’m a stuck up bitch

who left him with the same blue balls he’s had for the last fifteen years with one woman

who was running around on him so maybe broads are just as crazy as ya’ll

but slipping into your hob-knobbing vernacular is so simple and debasing

it’s delicious, I hate when you liken me to food and sugary sweets.

I am made of rice, with dirt on it.

Taliban murders seven sons and daughters and calls their fathers on the telephone,

I’m resisting arrest on grounds of contempt for the law.