Dogs have races. Dogs have war.
Dogs have Shakespeare.
I think someone ate a dog in some
I got that from a movie where a teacher
Simulacra upon simulacra
the coolest concept in sociology.
I see a dog in a meadow. He is well cared for.
Sometimes when we think of dogs
we get a pain in the pit of our stomachs because
we think of dogs being mistreated.
Innocence makes us fear guilt.
Little children sing creepy songs in horror movies
give us the chills.
Serial killer has the heart of a child.
Animals are innocent.
Shark seeks food and procreation
the height of evolution.
Lamb of God doesn’t bleat
on the bloody altar.
Cow meat. Shellfish.
Touching pork and alcohol.
Red lipstick on strict Baptist women.
Entering the temple with your street shoes on.
Walking on your mother’s white carpet
with your street shoes on.
Genital piercing. Genital mutilation.
Showing your face. Showing your ankles.
Cutting your hair.
Sex. Porn-a-plenty. Masturbation.
That one kink no one talks about.
Having other gods before me.
Cooking cabbage in the office microwave.
Dishonoring the corporation.
Tattooing little children blue with bush thorns.
(The prompt was “taboo.” I knew at some point I would find a use for my sociology degree.)
My pharmacist’s assistant boyfriend
It brings us closer as our fingers
touch over the Hydrocodone
and our wrinkles show
and our noses shine
under the fluorescent lights.
I say in a low voice
You know they’re for my mother.
He leans forward and says
I know. I remember you.
I tell him they’re for my mother every time
to prompt his sweet nothing.
I am unashamed. I flounce
out of the pharmacy with my narcotics
and swing my hips with purpose.
(I’m starting a little late for National Poetry Month’s 30 in 30. I owe you three. I’m on it.)
Thought I was special.
My cabbage didn’t stink like
other people’s did.
It’s finally here! April is National Poetry Month everybody, so get your pens a-blazin’, get out there, and free the verse! The challenge is to write a poem every day this month. Great, good, bad, worse, worsest, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is laying lines. Give it a try and I won’t even make you dress all poet-y like these dudes.
And if that’s not enough to entice you, here’s the After School Special pitch: C’mon man. You know you want to. I told all my friends you were cool. Don’t make me out to be a liar.