Talk about skirting the issue
As a lil taste of this thing called "writing" I've been claiming I do, here's the first draft of a poem I just wrote for my Genres & Forms in Poetry class with Michael Dumanis. This workshop explores different forms of poetic expression, and our most recent challenge was to write a litany ("America" is an example of a litany by Allen Ginsberg). And here I am taking a swing at it!
Talk about skirting the issue
Talk is cheapest on Mondays, bites down hard on the nostrils in January – cheaper he talks, quicker I slip on the ice (excuse to check out his biceps) – cheap dinner, kid gets blonder – burgers and fries, and eggs à la sunrise – sex is cheap (when he don’t pay for no-baby-candy-poppers) and cheaper and cheaper on Mondays. Talk about pink nipples. Talk about there’s a little black spot on the sun today.
Talk shop on Tuesdays – Gilmore Girls 8-7-central – two white women I’d like to talk to. Talk voice, talk vocabulary, talk brains n’ refined sugar. Talk about the coffee. Talk red wine, talk in rocking chairs talk in huffs of mulled cider. Talk red wine and horn-rimmed, glassy huffed air, talk about gracing the white paint chips on the furnace with my presence – talk about soaked, salty cheeks. Talk red wine and politics, talk at the table, talk on the kitchen counter, talk and howl like a real… girl.
Tick Tock, Hump Days are for humping. And being in the middle of things. Talk about peanut butter goes to the beach, talk in the sun, talk about pink skin fresh like a peach, talk about it never crisps or rips or talk about never dropping peels on the sand. Talk about an uh-oh Oreo? Talk about a peanut butter cup. Talk about knowing about not knowing what it really means what it really means to really be something to really fit in to really be in a hole to fit into a hole really a home, really? (Talk about is everybody behind bars but me?) Talk about what is it what is it what it is. Talk about we know what it ain’t – excuse me, talk about what it isn’t, what it aren’t, what we aren’t. I are outdated, isn’t I? What it is? Talk about Wednesdays.
Talk to the hand! Talk my hands out of these tar cracks, talk about an elbow here and an elbow there, talk about a raisin in the rain – talk about Thursdays – talk about the tears of god or something, talk about divacurlz, talk about screamin’ about “Kink! Kink! Kink!” all day and all of the night.
Talk me blue in the face! Talk me Friday – talk me my grey daddy and his gene pool – talk me how he paddled along the Charles with his painter line dippin’ right into the water, striped with Gout and Addiction and Diabetes and such. Talk about a good sense of humor. Talk about who fell in the river and came out brown. Talk about who didn’t. Talk about drink brown licker never been sicker.
Talk behind my back – talk about me, talk about me please – talk about I throb too much like an eel to Patti and Blondie and Bowie, talk about “ain’t she heard Kanye?” Talk about – hello, Prince? Talk about it was Saturday night I guess that makes it alright. Talk about baby, have ya got enough gas?
Talk the talk, walk the walk, walk tall, walk wit a big belly, talk like talk like the rest a’ my life. Talk like mama or don’t talk at all. Talk like a whiter shade of pale. Talk like poets do, talk like lovers do, like lovers do, ooh, ooh, ooh, talk to me. All you do to me is talk, talk.
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