I Am The Master of My Own Undoing
*
Maybe the man has to gut a fish. Maybe
that's why he's got a knife. If he likes
the heft of it in his hand, what's that matter?
I mean, he's got to eat.
*
Gilbert's guy was talking to God as he gutted,
as he fried onions in hot olive oil,
tossed in peppers.
As a bird flew between him and the sun.
*
God being all buddy-buddy.
Gilbert petulant, a little bit
greedy.
*
Well, the big guy's never
spoken to me. His kid showed up
once in the backyard at a crab boil
with Lineberger, but that was
a long time ago.
*
I've been drinking a gin infused
with cucumber and rose. A woman's
drink if ever I've tasted one.
I crave a cigar.
*
The other thing is I'll fight you
sonsabitches.
My trainer says I got no
defense but I won't
stop coming.
Eventually you'll get wore down
from punching my melon and then
we'll see what's what.
*
Inside of my body I carry
all the bodies of the awful
dead whose faces I can't
shut out.
*
That's a lie.
That's a goddamn lie.
*
posted by tearful dishwasher at 8:09 PM
4 Comments:
well, looky here, the man wrote a poem. scott, this is really terrific. i want to pile on some adjectives here. but hemingway said it better than all that. the real gen, he said. that's it, the real gen.
I love when a poem ends in a lie that is the goddam truth and god is all buddy-buddy in the middle & it starts w/ some guy gutting a fish.
Plus you even got Lineberger in there!
This is a total winner, I might say real gen, except I don't know what gen means.
the leaps are everything!
Love it yes I do.
Jitney-
Well, you're too generous. But I'm grateful. I'd like to return the favor some day, so go put yr blog up again. It's bad enough drinking a woman's gin, but not to have an edge of grimpen or a whatever you want to call it to go have a beer in, well, sir, it's just too damn much.
D-
Thanks! And thanks for hanging around here, classing the place up a bit.
yrs-
tearful
I like the opening here a lot. And the progression (or actually it's more like implosion) of the poem. Wonderful lines:
Inside of my body I carry
all the bodies of the awful
dead whose faces I can't
shut out.
Good piece.
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