Ann B-D

It just made me feel so much better.
All it took was a few shots through the bus window.
The crack of glass as the bullets hit,
crazing the window, pop, fzzzz, and then
the crazed bellow of the bus motor
as the driver slammed his foot on the gas
to GO GO GO
but couldn’t go,
for the wheelchair ramp was stuck in place. So
I stood and watched as
people poured out bus doors and windows
like frantic ants from a squashed anthill, heard
women scream, men shout
and shrill waves
of children’s shrieks
knifing through the air,
rising and falling
like sirens, ambulance, firetrucks,
car horns blaring,
it was all so
invigorating –
And I felt sweeps of blood
rushing through my body, felt
cleansing waves pouring through me
while a million phones flashed
light light light –
Distant wailing, cops approaching,
and oh my headache was
gone.

I am out of sync with myself.
Inside and outside do not match up.
Like a filmed event
with a two-second sound delay,
a cascade of
anxious, racing thoughts
jerk me away.
I am pulled in all directions
like a rubber band stretched too far
and then,
again and again,
snapped back,
and each stretch and relax
returns me to myself
more limp than the one before.

But I am well socialized.
You’d never know.
I get up in the morning,
get the day’s chores done,
go to the stores,
deal with the bank.
I smile at the proper places
and know when to shut up too,
but I am not here,
not here, not with you.

If I am so smart, why
am I so stupid
or is it more
in that category of
crazy
when you think
if you only do that thing
one more time,
one more time,
it
will
change

God is playing dice with the Universe.
The Universe throws doubles.
God sighs.
Six million is a lot to lose.
Now it’s God’s turn to
hunker down and shoot.
Snake-eyes.
Ha, says God. Pandemic!
Those dice are rigged, says the Universe.
Not so, says God.
It’s random.
I don’t believe it, says the Universe.
I know you, God.
You keep records.
You hold grudges.
And what about Einstein?
He had a theory about you.

God laughs.

The t.v. announcer says
Siren. 15 seconds. Direct hit.
I think
Toilet paper. Crackers. Cat food.
The radio announcer says
Cabinet meeting. Reserves. Call-up.
I think
Canned tuna. Bottled water. Eggs.

The Internet says
Missiles. Rockets. Tunnels.
I think
Cooking gas. Kerosene. Batteries.

I don’t say
What I think I know,
What I don’t want to know,
What I don’t want to think.
And so I keep thinking
Coffee. Aspirin. Apples.
Peanut butter. Face cream. Soap.

How interesting it must be
To have a penis,
To be accompanied always
By a creature that is part of you,
Yet completely independent,
With its own opinions
And its own proclivities
Not necessarily the same
As your own.
How interesting it must be
When the head says no
And the penis says yes, or
The head in its wisdom
Wants and desires,
And the penis sneers and shrinks away.
Or should one say
Not so interesting as all that,
Frustrating, in fact
When the penis decides on its own.
Still, you can have fun,
Can dress it up in little hats,
Can coyly hide it away,
Or have it peep forth with a grin and say,
Look at the gorgeous shape I’m in!
Don’t look at that big Bobo beyond.
Look at me! Am I not beautiful?
My telescoping majesty is a thing to admire,
And my spitting opinions are so raw, so true!
Where else can you
Come across honesty like this?
Really, it is a crime
And very weird
To have to hide away
Deep in the depths of pocketed pants,
Airless and damp,
Breeding grounds for bacteria,
Prey to the dreaded Crotch Rot.
Why can’t all penii
Hang out in the breeze
Flying and flapping
Or tight, drawn-up,
Ergometrical?
At the very least, we would know
Whose was bigger.
Imagine the problems that would prevent.
But no. The generative organs
Are not to be revealed.
And so it goes.
And so do we all go on
Hiding away the best parts of ourselves, the
Most intriguing, most honest,
Most real,
As unfit for public display
In the open air and the light of day.