April 18-24, 2005: Brian Beatty and Jerome Davis

Brian Beatty and Jerome Davis

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Not a Wink The evening begins with a cork in the maid’s eye and the first guests sneaking off to ruin the wallpaper I bring out an old phonograph a few records “Two-step, anyone?” Our ice-sculpted Zurich melts The room’s orbit slows My wife calls for an ambulance before I can re-invent baseball [Originally appeared online at 5_trope ] How To Back when telepathic buffoons were still the rage, you couldn’t walk down the street without tripping over a dozen shooting looks of dismay and disappointment up at foreign satellites Their pockets empty,  they subsequently went into theft, writing how-to bestsellers revealing the secrets of just about everybody– page after page after page after page of dull, fretful jabber [Originally appeared online at 5_trope ] This Must Be the Place “There are so many beautiful people .in the world,” .said the fleeing astronaut to his good-luck dashboard cowboy “I wish I could be one of them “ The figurine lowered the kerchief hiding his tiny face and whispered to his steed, “Don’t let on the big guy’s here He’ll go away “ But it was too late The horse was dead [Originally appeared online at 5_trope ] A Saturday Morning Epithalamion for Ted Berrigan Underdog unbunches two actresses’ undies,  then suggests, “How about let’s discuss this fuss in bed?” Though wooed — it’s true! — and unwed, neither fucks cartoons So he buries his bone up the bride’s dress instead Then apologizes afterwards to her groom Cue his out-of-sync ’60s soundtrack Now quit it — he can’t think His apartment’s fake leather furnishings stink He finishes a grilled-cheese and Pepsi found in the fridge Prays his services won’t be further required today He feels sick He remembers when Hollywood’s leading harlots cooed, “Ooh, Underdog!” But these days he’s lucky to land a date even as the beloved mild-mannered Shoeshine Boy He wonders, does Miss Polly Purebred secretly masturbate? Otherwise how is it she’s able to fend off his superpowerful paws? [Originally appeared online at Exquisite Corpse ] Soap Bubble I was just another fat kid in a small box The rich cheating bastards with wheels couldn’t stop laughing at my old man’s cigarette wheeze Until he accidentally coughed up God That shut their yaps Their asshole dads took notice, too Then it all went back to normal, I swear&Mac247; except now I had my bearings: 1 ) Nothing really changes 2 ) Things go downhill because of Cub Scouts [Originally appeared online at Milk Magazine ]

Highway Runner Remember when I let you bump tin with that Volvo in the Target parking lot? Everyone stared and covered their ears Blocked out your screeches of ecstasy I was a new driver then Didn’t know that you preferred discretion No touching A quick exit No crowds No cops No insurance adjusters I got you from a chemist,  a Chinese man named Roseanne He said you were an excellent highway runner It was good, it made you sound like a Deep Purple song He was sorry to see you go But was even more concerned that I’d feel sad driving you because of the big dent in your side Though it was his hit and run accident His trauma He offered to pay my therapy bills Even threw in some rental car certificates For special weekends when I wanted the type of car that would take its top off I’m sorry about one-eyed Willy the stray He snuck into you, dined on leftover French fries and Coke backwash You smelled like cat pee for months after that no matter how much Febreze no 5 I spritzed on you You’ve endured broken windows Flat tires Stolen batteries Yet you wear your haggard gray beauty like a tank Scarred but defiant