the maiden on the bottle
some nights the silence
in this apartment
gets to be too much
even though I hate telephones
I wish it would ring once in awhile
maybe a wrong number
or tele-marketer
or even the local church
asking for a donation
which I would politely refuse
some nights I need to be held
by someone or slapped around
listened to
ragged at
or just to cry with
I used to suppress
this loneliness with drugs
& fucking hapless women
who thought I loved them
who thought I would change
now it’s just me & the bottle
I talk to it for hours
as I put it to my lips
while surfing the ‘net for life
the miller high life maid
on the label is my lover now
& she listens to everything I say
agrees with me even
when I’m wrong
a good listener
& cold as my heart
never lonely
& always available
the brush company
my boss said we pushed
1.8 million units
out the door last month
with a broad smile
on his chunky face
I went out to check
the bar chart
next to the time card machine
& sure enough
the slope steadily
rose up off the page
onto the cork board
nailed to the wall
I felt that I did at least
a million of those units
all by myself
I’m still a temp
but people I don’t even know by name
have accepted me into this shit hole
they call life as they know it
the HR chick came out
to talk to the work force
later in the morning
she walks with a curious gait
the pain evident on her face
after 3 months
she looks me in the eye
& doesn’t back off
when I return her gaze
I’m one of them now
but little does she know
I’m dangerous
& in heat
sooner or later
I will have units
I want to push into her
blood & shelving units
had a interesting
day at work
a metal shelving unit
came down
on top of me
it was all
sloooow mooootion
for awhile
I stood there
feeling the warmth
of blood trickling down my arm
everything seemed brighter
the air fresher
but it was
just cuts & abrasions
just my pride hurt
just a few layers of skin ripped off
nothing to claim
on insurance forms
or reported to OSHA
the death metal fan I work with
helped patch me up
rinsing blood
from my arm
laughing at my
crude jokes about
wanting to be home
in bed with a nurse
it’s a bitch
working blue collar sometimes
but it’s a living
or what I take to be a living
I punched out at 3:30pm
grabbed a beer
and wrote this poem
hunting bambi & little birds –
OR why I don’t hunt
the protesters marched
up & down the road
chanting BAMBI BAMBI BAMBI
in front of park rangers
who had sad faces
if it wasn’t for the
orange vests & glowing
tips of cigarettes
no one would have known
they were standing there
I saw the news cast later that night
of the frozen carcasses
dead not from buck shot or arrows
but starvation
because their habitat was taken
away by shopping mall
& housing development investors
the rangers were culling the herd
of the sick & dying
giving the others a chance
to make it through the winter
I felt sorry for the deer
to end this way –
a pile of bones & fur in the woods
it reminded me
why I didn’t hunt
of when I was a kid
& my first BB gun:
the robin was out
in the backyard
minding its own business
& I took careful aim & shot –
it flew up a few feet
& then dropped
as soon as I pulled the trigger
I regretted taking another life
I buried the robin
behind the garage
ashamed & scared
that someone would
call me a monster
I’ve often wondered
what is the worst way to die:
burnt alive
run over or
slowly eaten by cancer
but in this world
of food & plenty
I think starving
has to be the cruelest way
by taking someone’s
right to eat
I hope the protesters
were warm in their
wool coats
leather shoes & gloves
I felt sick inside
my well-fed body
gulls geese & kids
watching sea gulls
outside my window
juking & jockeying
in the air above
my apt. building
they are far
from the shores
of Lake Erie
searching for half eaten
Whoppers
Big Mac’s
& Pizza Hut crusts
pigeons used to be called
rats with wings
but now these wraiths
battle with geese
for the title
of Most Despised Animals
of northeast Ohio
parking lots are covered
with gulls waiting
for someone to make a move
as cars plow through
their flocks on joy rides
by those same people
who dropped unused food
on sidewalks & grass
the cries of starving gulls
& obnoxious geese
are louder than
the whimpering of children
& adults in these rundown apts.
because the children
know their place
& smaller than
the drug-fucked wives
& beer-gutted men
too interested in Fall
football to want
to listen to them
gulls wheel
waiting for the economy
to recover
so more food is available
geese strut on
shit-covered grass
thinking of Canadian tundra
& tender green shoots
kids only want to
eat sugar-coated cereal
to wake up
& live another day
& only
to live
another day
