Author: R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

beasts

there’s a reason
these myths exist. Circe
and the swine, Beauty
and the Beast, Red
and the wolf. men
see themselves as beasts
when they act on their
animal instincts.
they see women
as the humans, who
have the power
to set you free
from your cages
of flesh, if only
we would take pity
on you and see beyond
your rude forms
and beastly behavior
to the suffering men
trapped inside.

Continue reading beasts

tit for tat

I’m so fucking sick of
playing this game. I thought
we were finally somewhat
even. and then you went
and played your hidden
hand, the ace
up your sleeve; made
the same old boring,
stupid move. well,
you got my attention, just
enough to make me
make a play in sheer
self-defense.

here’s the thing:
even a beggar can play
chess with the queen.
but the queen
can have the beggar
thrown in jail
when she’s sick
of their game.
not because he’s won.
because she’s done
playing.

welp, have fun
in your self-imposed prison.
is death by taunting
your guards starting
to look at all attractive?

swimming upstream

in a sea of Salmon bros
of both sexes, I am full of
disdain. they’re just so loud
and coarse, and though I’m
definitely capable of being
both of those things, compared to
these Neanderthals, I look demure
and dare I say it, classy.
one would think
that would make me like
them better, but it doesn’t.
I’m embarrassed on their
behalf. they’re having fun
but they’re just so oblivious to how
very obnoxious they are.
they grate on my last nerve
like nails on a chalkboard.

the mines of Moria

the local tracks are all
under construction.
the express train crawls
past this work as if
it’s trying to show it to me –
yards and yards of tunnels
filled with the ever-present
graffiti and lit sporadically
with bright rows of temporary lights,
revealing the men – wearing
orange vests, toting flashlights
and camel-colored canvas bags,
scratching their heads
with gloved hands over a trolley
full of electrical devices – all working
through the night. sometimes
they’re tramping in single file,
sometimes they cluster in great
clumps, like ants on some
purposeful, yet ultimately mysterious
mission. I see secret doors
and ladders, hidden, scrawled glyphs
beneath the platform
of my own station, some full
of the detritus of construction
and others newly washed,
their ceramic tiles gleaming white
in the fluorescent lights
as a freshly brushed tooth.

Continue reading the mines of Moria

the famous feud

I can’t believe your parents
never told you about the
infamous feud
between the Dan
and the Eagles. the latter
put that line in their worst,
most famous song
about stabbing
with steely knives
but not being able to kill
the beast, after the former
thoroughly trashed them
in the press. the Dan then
returned the rather dubious favor
by casually insulting the latter
in a song about a cheating wife
and a man who wants to hear
all the details, but tells her
to turn up the Eagles, the
neighbors are listening.

I suppose, given what
you told me about your parental
allegiances, it does make
a kind of sense. one
likes the one and the other
likes the other, and if they revealed
that their two musical heroes
hated each other, it might imply
that you had to take sides.
for that I respect them.
my parents loved both bands,
apparently more than they loved
each other.

a castle in the clouds

after a hard day’s
night spent adventuring
with friends, I debate
my next steps. should
I return to my castle
in the clouds, where
my cats and my solitude,
my leftovers and my air-conditioning,
my big bag of m&m’s,
and my familiar demon
sadness await? or
should I go to that basement
in the village where
a good number
of my friends are
probably still performing
at one of the mics?

Continue reading a castle in the clouds