Saturday, December 14, 2013

I have a poem in the 16th edition of The Journal of Modern Poetry. Read it here

wimmin’s rights

Have a morning fuck and
send the man home.

He wants to stay,
wants you to call him,
wants to introduce you to his friends.

You have shit to do.

Boil a potato,
eat it with some salt.

He wants to take you out to dinner.
You are not hungry.

There are some stale saltines
in a cabinet somewhere and
plenty of beer in the fridge.

Play some records,
put on an old sweater
and some stockings.

Get high and

You want to dance? He says.
Let’s go dancing.

You are already dancing.

Lay in bed and
read some poems.

Write a bit.

Work on that rug you’ve been making.
He wants to buy you a rug.

You don’t need one.

Maybe paint a little.
Maybe boil another potato,
watch it cook.

You need a television, he says.
You wouldn’t have to stand at the stove
watching potatoes boil if you had a television.

What in hell would you ever want with a television?
Fuck the man and send him home.

(from the guns get bigger and bigger and the girls move further away)

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