Thursday, August 21, 2014

I Wrote A Poem Today

I wrote a poem today.

And I made squash fritters for Sue and Kathryn for breakfast.

Both gave me the same kind of happiness and enjoyment because I put something of myself in something else--a little pancake, a little poem. And now there is just a little less of me.

Sorry, all of the squash fritters were eaten. Here, you can eat the poem:

The Hand Grenade

I am a hand grenade
I will explode
I will detonate in a sudden burst of passion 
and love and joyous shrapnel and sweet 
generous jags of searing metal. 

I am a hand grenade
I will explode
When my pin is pulled
my splatter zone will be smeared red with the carnage of
anger and hate and irrationality
with the offal of fear and fragility and distrust
packed into my hard pineapple core
consuming me in the welcome release of an expanding shock wave.

I am a hand grenade
I will explode
Amputating your dismissive hand mid-wave
The surprise on your face as you gaze at your spurting stump is hilarious
because hands were never meant for dismissal
in the first place
my explosion silencing your know-it-all ignorance
rearranging your entitlement in topsy-turvy fashion
upsetting you onto your big fat ass with a whomp
while you ask yourself, what just happened?

I am a hand grenade
I will explode
as surely as a rattlesnake will strike.
And so I know I am doomed
(for loneliness, either imposed or self-induced)
for who wants to pet the rattlesnake or play hot potato
with a hand grenade but still that’s not what grenades are for
in the first place.

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