[lit-ideas] SUNDAY'S TUESDAY POEM -- SIX SICK ONES
- From: "Mike Geary" <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: "LIT-IDEAS" <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Tue, 1 Jun 2004 01:39:41 -0500
I
My friend with ALS
used to please me to no end
with his witticisms.
But now I can't make out a single word he says.
Tornadoes inside my chest.
II
Every time I decide to kill myself,
the weather changes.
Damn it all.
III
There is no god,
no,
none,
but there are flowers
and that's better.
IV
Flowers,
after all,
are but Nature's way
of sticking her
(and his)
genitals
in your face.
And proudly.
V
I like peanut butter and butter sandwiches.
I like wearing jeans to weddings.
I like being skonkered.
I like making satisfied people angry.
I like not being trusted.
I like me.
VI
If Jesus came down to earth,
I would punch him in the nose.
"Why didn't you tell us about all those goddamn germs?"
I'd say.
But he wouldn't know what the hell I was talking about,
never having studied biology.
So I'd apologize
and buy him a beer
and make lewd remarks
about all the waitresses,
to which comments, I'm sure,
he'd scrunch his nose.
Gods can be so boring.
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