‘You take the good with the bad.’
‘You’re a good person and a wicked artist.’
‘You’re very sensitive.’
‘I find you intriguing.’
‘You’re a strong person.’
‘I like your penis.’
‘You’re not too crusty for an old guy.’
‘You’re funny.’
‘You’re one sexy mother.’
‘You make my day.’
‘My kids like you.’
All these thoughts
crossed his mind
as she came screaming
towards him with
a butcher knife.
six feet tall, mandibles
chittering as he sat at
the kitchen table
Mommy said, Gerald
This is your new Daddy
to which he replied
What happened to my
Other Daddy?
The bug clicked
his great sticky jaws
again, patting
his knee, Sit down,
son, I’ll explain
everything
Gerald went to bed
confused, scared
by the noises that emerged
from Mommy’s room
moist gasps, the paper-flutter
of wings, wondering why
she called him Daddy
too
after we got drunk
and after we fucked
some dribbled out of her butt
to the bathroom floor
and she slipped
on the jizz
and hit her head and
got knocked out
and like a good boyfriend
I carried her to the bed
tucked her in
and let her sleep it off
she wakes up
in the middle of the night
and I ask how she’s feeling
she starts screaming
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”
and I try to calm her down but
she pulls a can of mace
from her purse
and sprays my face
and the dog is barking
and biting my ankles
she runs out of the house
screaming
“CALL THE POLICE
HELP
THERE’S A RAPER IN MY HOUSE”
I can hear neighbors opening their doors
and a commotion
dragging the dog by my ankle
I try to follow her outside
to explain the situation to everyone
and a neighbor has a shotgun
pointed at my chest
so I go back inside
and then the cops come
kicking down the door
I’m standing with my hands in the air
“GETDOWNGETDOWNGETDOWN”
before I can register what they’re saying
I get tased, three times
and her dog fried to death
but I’m alright
she remembers who I am now
what a day
i don’t look like a supermodel,
but i fuck like a porn star.
let me take that back—
not quite like
a porn star…
i won’t let you come on my face
and i won’t be faking it
when i come
on yours.
and ernie hemingway pushed through four wives
and two fucked up sons
before he finally took a bullet to his head over breakfast
on video i’ve watched bukowski kick his wife off a couch
hell, caravaggio and ben jonson actually did kill people
villon and genet were thieves
and rimbaud ended up nothing but a smuggler
nabokov wrote lolita and lord byron fucked his half-sister
dickens, the immortal Charles dickens
and those are just the men, ladies and gentlemen
let’s not even get started about what virginia woolf
the point is for all of their blemishes, heinous words
because some of them have given me more light and life
so to you people boycotting this artist and that
orson scott card or whoever you trolls have lined up next
someone who’s views aren’t yours
do me a favor and sit down and try to sweat out
or a handful of operas
a symphony or another wasteland
hell, try to write out your grocery lists
do something other than pounding out your inane
uneducated opinions behind the safe mercy of internet anonymity
your dull bullshit in 140 characters or less
and then we’ll talk
about who’s boycotting who
you motherfuckers.
A blonde is wheeled up to my door
and I am too drunk
to turn her away.
She is beautifully constructed
and her legs seem to carry on
forever.
I bring her inside
and admire her
as I sing and dance
and toast my good fortune.
All is well
and I think she likes me,
when
suddenly,
two battalions of pointy-fingered feminists
a legion of angry lesbians
a four-star father
three divisions of divorce lawyers
and a squadron of jealous ex boyfriends
all jump out
and hack my drunk ass
to pieces.
