I put a frog in your desk
the other day,
did you notice?
I was the one who pulled
out your chair
just before you sat down,
it was my foot that tripped you
that time in the lunch room,
it was me who carved your
initials in that back wall.
I poke you and poke you
but you never pull
my pigtails. what do I
have to do to get you
to notice me?
last night I was outside
the regular haunt,
in the doorway, smoking, when
I saw someone come around
the corner, see me,
and promptly turn around
to go back
from whence he came.
I didn’t see
his face, so I was
briefly confused, until
a minute later you
came back, breezed right
by me and went to talk to
some people who
have yet to learn
how much of a snake
you really are.
oh, you’re here. of course
you missed our set. I
don’t know whether to be
mad or relieved. hearing
your obnoxious bellowing
probably would have
distracted me. and the sight
of your ugly mug
has made me feel ill
for some time now.
so thanks for nothing,
I guess. why don’t you
throw yourself in the trash
where you belong?
the only person
I hate more
than the subject
of my last poem
is whoever spilled
a raw egg or
a rotten piece
of lettuce
on the floor
in the middle of the bar
area at the Sidewalk Café.
no joke, I actually did
slip and fall down
and hurt my knee
and though thankfully
my tights are unharmed,
some attractive people
chatting away nearby
saw me go sprawling
and solicitously
asked if I was okay
because my fall was
so embarrassingly,
obviously painful.
so double fuck you,
fuckface. may you
rot in hell
with your lettuce
and your carelessness.
you know
what you did. and you
know how totally unacceptable
it is. if you want
to be in society, that shit
just doesn’t fly, man.
so very very
not cool. I’ve been silent
for too long out of
cowardice but I’m
putting my
foot down. no
more. this
shall not stand.
I will find you
and I will make you
hurt the way
you hurt me.
so whoever left your
goddamn coat
on the floor at the
Sidewalk Open Stage
tangled around a chair
that made me trip
and nearly do
an embarrassing
faceplant in front
of everyone:
fuck you!
weather so brutal that I
cannot feel my face,
American Airlines sending
my goddamn bags to LGA
when they knew damn well
I was arriving in Newark
after they canceled my flight
and forced me to spend a
miserable night in Charlotte
in a hotel full of dudebros
in suits for some Phi Beta Kappa
conference in which they’ll learn
how to be even bigger dickheads
than they already were,
some asshole in my building
having the nerve to do laundry
when I am using both dryers,
a stupid jackass revving
his shitty car loudly for
no good reason, all of you,
can you just
not?
do you understand that
the reason I don’t write
about you that often is
because you’re right here?
I can just tell you flat out
whatever I want to say.
there’s no need to couch
my thoughts in poesy, or
think of some mildly
clever angle. it’s just direct
communication.
there are others whom
I have complex constellations
of feelings towards, which
sometimes provides me
with a message to put
into this glass bottle.
but if you recall that poem
I wrote – before we were even
an item – in which I said
that there are only two things
that inspire me: rage and
unrequited love, you’ll know
that you don’t want
to be the subject of my poems,
baby. that would mean
we were breaking up.
last night I saw him,
for the first time
in months, and
I did not speak.
I saw his eyes on me
and turned away,
expressionless,
as if I didn’t even
notice. I felt
his thoughts and feelings,
his dark vibes
and creepy, lonely
emanations
from across the room.
twice I felt some
subterranean urge
rising inside myself
to talk to him, when
the situation gave rise
to an opportunity
to make a joke
or a comment
that he would uniquely
appreciate, but I stayed
resolute and
held my tongue.
no good could
come of it. we’ve
been down that path
before. plus
I didn’t want to give him
the satisfaction
of being the first
one to acknowledge
the other.
yes, it’s petty. I’m
petty around him.
that’s one of the many
reasons I refuse
to go back to the place
where I care
what he thinks.
I lived there for too long
and hated every
minute of it.
I successfully avoided him
until he left. good riddance
to bad rubbish. proof that
if you wait long enough,
the trash will
take itself out.
there are certain places,
crossroads,
that are somehow haunted
by the memory
of you, though you’re not
even dead.
can’t you ever just
for once fucking
come out and say
what you mean and
mean what you say?
do you even have a heart
under all those cries
of wolf, wolf, looking
for your Little Red
Riding Hood? or does a
clockwork ticker beat
itself to death inside
your Tik-Tok chest?
fee, fie, foe, fun. I
smell the blood
of a charlatan.
R. Brookes McKenzie 