Saturday, 25 April 2009

Antidote #1: Twelve-Step Playaholics: The Lemonade Stand

When a boy says it’s so deep you have him*
nibbling from your palm like a deer
in an open zoo. Everyone needs a niche,
ask my girlfriend. It’s all my kitsch, I fear
never having enough details to open a blog
and post pictures of my lemonade stand,
stuck waiting so long, no takers.
For me, and this is the problem, it’s not the sale,
but the funny things neighbors took the time to dream up
that keeps me here—
how to get a sassy young dare to
pee on an electric fence wire;
how a dog was so jealous of a fat cat
it could be induced to eat soap to keep it from her;
how a father was so violent the boy had to
get a gun to chase him off forever,
breaking his soft heart;
how even in penny-anny poker someone
serious as a heart attack would send signals;
how a true test of friendship is whether
they're close enough for buttfucking;
how when a neighbor breaks something
the father bans him from the premises, and how
they couldn't pay us enough to stay then;
how after his mother remarried
the boy next door needed a father, not a grandfather;
how the undersexed women of the neighborhood
were all ballooning out of control;
how the lady on the corner who couldn't have kids
would flag down our car to report to my mom
gas stuck here, poked there in it until we had to go;
how one boy was said to have affairs with his cows;
how when I grew up I'm going to have to shave my entire face;
how I not only couldn't get a date, but would screw up a wet dream.

*Inspired by a scene in Terminator 2.

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