What's supposed to go on here?

I cannot offer anything that may be of consequence to anyone, living or dead.

So, here's some poetry, the most unassuming of propaganda.


Playing House

To You,

To Distant Memories:

I heard you got caught

making out

with another girl’s vah-jay-jay

Almost like once upon a time

when our own after-school television special

had squeals instead of canned laugh tracks

no less real

no less fake

The feeling we’d get

like we wanted to pee

but the pipes clogged

I sailed at half-mast

and like pirates, we raided

your dad’s treasured stash labeled

“Martha Stewart Presents: Home Cooking”

And then your VCR whirred like egg beaters

fast-forwarding scenes of fleshy Adonis beating her eggs

‘til his Super Soaker super-soaked her

you couldn’t get mine to work quite right

no matter how much you pumped it

Next Monday, I decided to return the favor

when I removed your peppermint Hanes

you didn’t know what Victoria’s Secret was then

but it’s Victor’s secret now

I licked you

you cried

And kept crying until mammy walked in

I told her that we were playing House

I still don’t understand why
I was never invited to yours again.

-v