dude
they have this
giant blue
monolith
in their
bathroom

no i wasn't
high, maybe
sugar high
becca's
oma kept
offering me
cookies
like i was a
monster that
needed
sating

eventually
i was
screaming
at her:
no, oma, i
don't want
any more ****
cookies

not the
point, dude,
the monolith, you
shoulda seen this
thing i wanted to
worship it that's
how awesome it
was

becca said it
was modern art or some
**** maybe its
their god but then
why would
they put it in their
bathroom?

i guess if
you really love
somebody
you will let them
see you
***, smell your
****

thats true love
man

becca
come into the
bathroom
with me
becca
baby
we're going to
church

before my
drivers ed teacher
died
he made a
special effort to
harass
me for my
lack of
depth
perception

does that make me
shallow?

years later i
mention this
to my
friends who all
agree
that no one has
depth
perception,
that he was
just being a
*****

which is
why, when telling this
story
i don’t tell
you that he
died from
cancer,
letting you
think I murdered
him in a drunken
shallow
rage

in the
bathroom at
chipotle i give
birth to my first
child his skin as
dark as
black beans
quietly i
name him
carlos

he’s out of
wedlock only
thing
locked right
now is my
bike to the
rack outside the
library looking so
sad

i couldn’t do that
to my baby
carlos

he does not
cry silently
submerged in the
water his brow
wrinkled like the
mugs my
uncle used for
margaritas
shaped like
Buddha his round
belly
carved out for
liquor
just like my
uncle’s was

carlos is
**** but he’s
mine
****** and for a
while i
struggle with
dreams of a
life
together, him
rotting in my
arms, getting
eaten by
dogs

that’s no life at
all

finally
i push the
lever, later ill
call it a mercy
killing
as if such a
thing were
possible

returning to the
table its
stupid but i
miss him
he was my
child
he had my
eyes

i am not a
‘poet’
dan is a
poet always
wearing the same
green sweater
dan who hannah’s
mom thought was
******* because of
his poor eye
contact
dan who tells us he
likes his women with
hairy legs
dan whose poetry
writes about
beauty and
transcendence
and all that
****

in contrast to
me. i write only
to insult my
friends

yeah, that dan

i don’t want to be a
‘poet’
i don’t want to be like
him