Lazy poems

Most people
make poetic lists of things they are
afraid of.

They start small.
Spiders, they say.
Cliffs.
Plane crashes.

Then they systematically move to what
actually scares them.
Losing you,
for example.

I see it coming from a mile away.

Those people
should write better poetry.

A list of things I hate.

Her smarmy fucking face
Fucking 19 years old.
What could you possibly have in common.
Presumes to know everything about me because she read Oliver Twist.
Fuck off.

What the fuck is wrong with me.
The entire department would fuck me, but not you.
What the fuck is wrong with me.
I'm short and pale and brunette.
I've got a nice ass.
I'm too old.
I'm all used up.
Do you imagine my tits hang to my knees.
Do you imagine my shriveled pussy dry like sandpaper.
I have a grey hair.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and see wrinkles and crow's feet.
Fuck you.

I hate it when you touch me.
Stop putting your fucking face in my hair.
Don't bury your face in my neck.
Don't kiss my head.
No more goddamn hugs.
I hate it when you touch me.

Go ahead and talk to her.
Teach her all the things you know.
She'll be glad to know them.
She'll recite them like a trained monkey.
Her eyes will dazzle for you.
Your friends will high five you.
What a nice tight piece of 19-year-old ass.

Fuck you.

Lucky

I was having a pity party
and you came.

And so did Leigh
and Sara
and Kris
and Laurel
and Katherine
and Jason

"To my big brother George,
the richest man in town."

Significant Other

I think I love you
p less than point oh five
Not that I have any data
with which to calculate
my test statistic

I think Sternberg's triangle
is on to something.
Love involves my head
and my heart
and a surge of vasocongestion to my vulva and vaginal structures.
But without getting into why,
his theory is difficult to test.

Lee's styles of loving
sound nice
but they are fodder for
women's magazines and
self help books.
That's just silliness.

Attachment theory
and neuroscience
have some good ideas.
You make me feel good.
An increase in oxytocin!

The Supremes nailed it.
Whenever you're near
I hear a symphony.
But I cannot quantify it.

Still
your laughter correlates highly
with my own.
I could test that.
Operationalize by counting
the number of laughs
when we are apart
when we are together
Now I have empirical evidence!

I love you
p less than point oh five