December 11, 2008

This is a poem with which I am putting off sleep. You (invisible, incorporeal, possibly nonexistent you) get to read it, because you are just. That. Lucky.

Mexican Standoff

You say that I
don’t know anything
about anything
and I say you know
nothing about everything.

It’s a Mexican standoff.

Except that it isn’t:
you claim to be Armenian
and I’m a little bit
Spanish from way back
in my family.
You say that doesn’t count
and I say at least I speak the language,
but the point is that neither of us
is Mexican.

Then you remind me
that you’ve stolen my heart
and I say screw you,
I don’t want it anymore, and anyways
the Mesopotamians
believed that your liver
did all that thinking junk.

Why don’t you—
I say—
give it to that waitress
from the vegetarian restaurant
whose ass you kept eyeing
as we munched on
whole wheat crackers and hummus?

Then you say maybe you will
and now that you’re gone
I have to admit
missing my heart;
I need it to pump blood
and write angry poems.

December 1, 2008

Things I Put Off Today:

It's not procrastinating if The Grinch Who Stole Christmas is involved.

*glares*