Storage and Other Poems

Storage

I wish I could save you onto a flash drive that dangles from my key chain
And plug you into any computer I come across
And you’d be there
With me
In all of your glory
And I’d ask you if you’d like some music
And you’d say
Why yes I’d love some music
And I’d download Sufjan Stevens songs into your brain
And we’d hum Chicago while I work on my portfolio at a coffee shop
And pretend to be more important than everyone else
And when I make a typo you would stop me and say something like
Hey, now, you know better than that mister
And I’d laugh
And you’d laugh
And then I’d threaten to delete you
Because that’s the sort of games we’d play
If you were on my flash drive
And I was in complete control
But you know
And I know
That I would never delete you
That it’s just a joke
Because that’s what we do
And how we are
We joke about being deleted
And I joke about downloading porn onto your flash drive
And you don’t laugh like I expect you to
And one day I open up a Word document that you’ve created
And it reads as follows:
Dear you, I think that porn joke was very inappropriate and I’d appreciate it if you’d just go ahead and cut and paste me into an email and send me to one of your more attractive friends who doesn’t use his sense of humor to make people feel uncomfortable so often.
And I’d secretly make a copy of you for old time’s sake
And send you to Phil.
Phil is a stand up guy.
And he has a Mac.
And I don’t’ think you’re compatible with that format.





Atlas

I can see my house from here
And I smell crayons
And Teddy Ruxpin
And thick plastic that you can’t bend or break
And there’s a Lego in my nose
And my brother’s G.I. Joes are all over the floor
And my mom is screaming
And my dad is drunk
And it’s my house,
I can see it
Clear as day.
I can draw it on a map
With scented markers that don’t smell like any chocolate I’ve ever smelled
And I can send it to you with a pigeon from my pirate ship.

Frame

I took a photograph once
Of some people in a cold mist
In Canada
Where they speak French
Some of them I mean
And I came home
And blew it up
And went to frame it
And it wouldn’t fit
In the frame I’d bought
So I gingerly opened the window
In my bedroom
And threw the frame toward my car
And it hit the pavement just next to the passenger seat
And I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Pastry

Coffee shop boy
If you heat up my fucking blueberry scone
Without asking me first
Just one more time
I’m going to subtly walk behind the counter
When you aren’t looking
When you’re probably telling the coffee shop girl about
Your lame ass art school project
Or your stupid arm tattoos that someone told you were clever
And I am going to steam a small bit of milk
Walk up to you
Grab the plastic hipster glasses off your face
And blind you with a Café au Lait
Venti.

Lost

It was in a shopping mall
When I was two or three
That my mother and I
Misplaced my asshole brother
And I remember
Calling his name aloud in the parking lot
And in stores
One by one
And I wonder
What would have happened if he never turned up
If our neighbor hadn’t happened across him
In a clothing aisle
I wonder if I’d still think what I think about people
In general
If I hadn’t been told
Everyday
That I was a loser
If we’d just gotten in the car
And driven home
And ignored the empty seat.


Breakfast

When I tell someone that I didn’t have breakfast
And they reply by saying
‘It’s the most important meal of the day’
I think briefly about what might happen
If I grabbed the nearest chair
Or barstool
And slammed it against their fucking head.
I wonder if they’d say it to me again
I wonder if they’d try to tell me what’s important again
Because maybe I can’t wake up in time for an omelet
Maybe I have things to do all night
And I can’t go to sleep on time
And I have to make myself even eat lunch the next day
Because the thought of nourishing a body
That doesn’t work for me anymore
Is depressing.