28 Minutes Later
Helen,
in the days before assigned seating
and the post cold war assassination of bangs
your Peter Coyote voiceovers appeared
to favor the turtle
but your actions say otherwise
your actions smoke cigarettes
with the predators while trading
your phone number for plastic cups
of warm beer in the backyard
of someone else’s lame party
where people say shit like:
“What have you got there Richie? A pack of gum?”
“No. It’s called the clap.”
and the stereo says shit like:
She doesn’t like to lose
She only likes to win
which is just Phil Collins’ way of saying
she only likes the opposite of what she doesn’t like
and tied to the tree
I see a wet hammock
and a ceramic dog pretending to be asleep
on top expensive ceramic pillows
and Helen, I can see you
holding hands with a guy that’s built
like a canceled sit-com
wearing a smug fucking look on his face
because everyone has always dug the hell
out of the way you hold a banana in public
and the guy who gave him a ride to this party
had to uneventfully split early but that’s ok
because his other car is now my girlfriend
“Bring momma her bone pills!”
“But momma this is gin.”
“That’s momma’s bone pills!”
shit Helen
we were like two cars
sharing the same set of tires
on a road that snapped like burnt rope
but that’s ok
we’ll always have sunset
just like that walking man purse you’re seeing now
will always have his mint julep in a can
your wingspan has shown me
the dumpster and the dumpster
has shown me its soul
so I spit empty Halloween candy wrappers
into dead grass
and walk inside into a room
that looks like a cross between
Wayne Newton’s worst nightmare
and an unsuccessful magazine advertisement
for uncomfortable pants
where I’m down to cotton mouth
and raw instincts
while
thinking about your vagina
roller skating through the park
where my face first met you
balls to balls
clitoris to hard on
limp dick to limp dick
can you tell me Helen
where exactly the fuck
we went wrong?
you can’t of course
I’m sorry
you’re busy right now
tongue humping a stern circle
of young republicans
these blinds that you’ve picked out
for what has no longer been left
of our house now see clearly
god bless America
and everyone else
our bought out politicians
are trying to screw
the street sweepers around these parts
who spit fat pigeons and outweigh the streets
that they’re sweeping by three thousand pounds
people who spontaneously combust into popcorn
Helen I skinned my knee tonight
on your short cut
Is bukaki cheating?
god bless the clap
(from my book, Avenge me. Baobob Tree Press)
Multiverse Johnson 