A people-avoider, a slut, and a hoarder

A people-avoider, a slut, and a hoarder

All lived in a basement that smelled like old cheese

The people-avoider sat still in a corner

The slut and the hoarder did just as they pleased.

The hoarder kept objects, like beanbags and trainers

In plastic containers all over the place

The slut had his lovings atop the containers

The people-avoider just shielded her face.

The hoarder kept hoarding, until she came back

With ten trophies, a walrus, twelve chairs and nine trout.

This wasn’t so good for the slut and avoider

The hoarder'd essentially shoved them both out.

With nowhere to go, they went out in the snow

They split up and went on with their sorrowful lives

But deep down the hoarder adored the avoider

And deep down the slut wanted both as his wives.

So none were content, but one day all three went

To the same coffee shop to get out of the chill

“I’ve been meaning to ask…will you both be my wife?”

Asked the slut, and both friends shyly answered: “I will.”

So back in the basement, the friends became lovers

They always used rubbers (the slut had disease)

They did a deep clean so the floor could be seen

And this helped to get rid of the smell of old cheese.

The hoarder decided to donate her hoardings

The walrus she sold for two dollars, one cent

The slut stopped his slutting, avoider stopped cutting

And now, for the first time, the three are content. 

Three Types of Strangled

Sea-Strangled

I wake up, you’re on top of me and also you’re an octopus

Caressing me with those strange suckers like I’m your whiteboard

Coral grows down from the ceiling in algorithms

Water leaks in from the floorboards

“Please, why does it smell so salty?”

“You left the seaweed in the pot, boiling.”

Starfish are clinging to the window

I try to call out but my voice sounds like bubbles

Blue fish are flopping inside the pillowcase

Now your tentacles are gripping my ankles

“Just let go for a sec so I can turn off the stove…”

It wouldn’t be so bad, the suckers and the pillow-fish

If it weren’t for the starfish, and the smell of the seaweed…

And the fact that you’re whispering you love someone new…

Desert-Strangled

In this desert of pale green sand

There is nothing more beautiful than you

You are the enormous statue of the Sphinx

You are skyscrapers taller than I am

How can I climb to your broken nose

To kiss your powdery eyes?

Without a ladder, I can only sit and watch the winds erode you

The dust of you lands on my hair

I will be your open-skinned urn

After all,

I’m the one who packed you into sand.

Blood-Strangled

I didn’t give a coin to the beggar

In fact he didn’t ask me for a coin

He asked if I could lick what was dripping from his bony wrist

“Okay, sure, but that could be blood or urine.

I’m not sure how sterile you are, Sir.

You smell like one of those striped brown lizards

That’s been dead for weeks or years.”

Jar Man and Squiggle-Clod Read Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

The jar man looked inside a jar

He saw a wriggly thing

It looked all squiggly-wroggly-rot

Like squid that barfed up string.

‘Good lord,’ he said, ‘I thought I’d put

My kidney beans in here.

Instead, I find this squiggle-clod

How twimberingly queer.’

The squiggle-clod, when it breathed out

Made all the jar-glass fog

Its skin was moist and pinkish-gray

Like thick mid-morning smog.

‘What do you want, then, squiggle-clod?’

The clod said, with a wince

‘I want for you to read to me

The book The Little Prince.

But don’t say ‘prince’; say ‘jar man’

Not ‘fox,’ but ‘squiggle-clod’

You understand?’ the jar thing asked

The jar man gave a nod

He looked around his bookshelf

His eyes began to bleed

He broke the binding, wiped the blood

And then began to read:

 “So the jar man tamed the squiggle-clod. And when the hour of his departure drew near--

“Ah," said the squiggle-clod, "I shall cry."

“It is your own fault," said the jar man. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."

“Yes, that is so," said the squiggle-clod.

“But now you are going to cry!" said the jar man.

“Yes, that is so," said the squiggle-clod.

“Then it has done you no good at all!" said the jar man.

“It has done me good," said the squiggle-clod, "because of the color of the wheat fields.”