Disasterology
The Badger is the thirteenth astrological sign.
My sign. The one the other signs evicted: unanimously.
So what? ! Think I want to read about my future
in the newspaper next to the comics?
My third grade teacher told me I had no future.
I run through snow and turn around
just to make sure I've got a past.
My life's a chandelier dropped from an airplane.
I graduated first in my class from alibi school.
There ought to be a healthy family cage at the zoo,
or an open field, where I can lose my mother
as many times as I need.
When I get bored, I call the cops, tell them
there's a pervert peeking in my window!
then I slip on a flimsy nightgown, go outside,
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poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
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Alibi School
My pal, Jake, majored in corruption.
His final exam: a girl from the Midwest,
three weeks to dismantle eighteen years
of good parenting. High results came early
in the easy days, with the principal taking
his puff from the honor role in the bathroom.
In gym we learned how to turn our backs
on the world at once; the team
elected me captain of varsity nosebleeds.
At the prom, we parked our limousine
before doing the mandatory wind sprints;
my date's eyes were big, hazel dictionaries.
At our homecoming Jake injected the clouds
with a hero's last breath; rain on the victory parade
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poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
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The Jerk
Hey you, dragging the halo-
how about a holiday in the islands of grief?
Tongue is the word I wish to have with you.
Your eyes are so blue they leak.
Your legs are longer than a prisoner's
last night on death row.
I'm filthier than the coal miner's bathtub
and nastier than the breath of Charles Bukowski.
You're a dirty little windshield.
I'm standing behind you on the subway,
hard as calculus. My breath
be sticking to your neck like graffiti.
I'm sitting opposite you in the bar,
waiting for you to uncross your boundaries.
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poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
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The Day It Rained Splinters
Lady Liberty, I understand your confusion, watching
that first plane smash into the skyscraper, but surely
you could've swatted the second one from the air,
or at least leaned forward and caught the people
who leaped. They jumped as humans and landed
like meat. If only we'd put a hose in your fingers,
not a torch, you could've doused the flames. And where
was God? Perhaps blessing some other country
for a change, as our fifty lucky stars sank into us
like shark's teeth. The sky was a big black cloud,
and the cloud had feet. Now the celestial scoreboard
reads: Allah 1, God 0. Soon the blood will flow,
but with so much dirt in our throats, how can revenge
taste sweet? Carnage Asada is what they served
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poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
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The Archipelago Of Kisses
We live in a modern society. Husbands and wives don't
grow on trees, like in the old days. So where
does one find love? When you're sixteen it's easy,
like being unleashed with a credit card
in a department store of kisses. There's the first kiss.
The sloppy kiss. The peck.
The sympathy kiss. The backseat smooch. The we
shouldn't be doing this kiss. The but your lips
taste so good kiss. The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss.
The I wish you'd quit smoking kiss.
The I accept your apology, but you make me really mad
sometimes kiss. The I know
your tongue like the back of my hand kiss. As you get
older, kisses become scarce. You'll be driving
home and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road,
with its purple thumb out. If you
were younger, you'd pull over, slide open the mouth's
red door just to see how it fits. Oh where
does one find love? If you rub two glances, you get a smile.
Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling.
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poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
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The Benjamin Franklin of Monogamy
Reminiscing in the drizzle of Portland, I notice
the ring that's landed on your finger, a massive
insect of glitter, a chandelier shining at the end
of a long tunnel. Thirteen years ago, you hid the hurt
in your voice under a blanket and said there's two kinds
of women—those you write poems about
and those you don't. It's true. I never brought you
a bouquet of sonnets, or served you haiku in bed.
My idea of courtship was tapping Jane's Addiction
lyrics in Morse code on your window at three A.M.,
whiskey doing push-ups on my breath. But I worked
within the confines of my character, cast
as the bad boy in your life, the Magellan
of your dark side. We don't have a past so much
as a bunch of electricity and liquor, power
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poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
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