When you’re certain that you have the answer, write it down on a half-sheet of paper and give it to me. Ms. Curtis is going to go and imbibe toxic amalgamations in the corner over there. No need to worry about what those big words mean, Ms. Curtis wouldn’t do anything bad, would she kids?
That’s right.
Hand me that spatula. The one over there. On the counter. The other counter.
No, that’s the kitchen shears. Big difference.
Don’t you know what a spatula looks like?
No, that’s an ice cream scoop.
You’re getting closer, at least.
I’m never late for a very important date,
except tonight. This is the one exception.
I usually gallop in at a quarter to the hour,
I swear to the head of Zeus. Zeus, I say.
You want to know what caused it?
Being late, that is.
Are you sure you can handle it?
It’s a fairly obstreperous tale.
I sneezed at the waterfront.
No big deal, right?
The python junkies from Cupertino
hit up that spot every Tuesday.
They communicate with fake sneezes.
The more realistic they sound,
the bigger the turf war gets.
Well I had a juicy one.
They must have thought there was a fire.
The seventy-seven wavelengths
passed me by
on their way to their
equivalent of God:
the unending line segment of every crest and trough
equally infinitely spread across existence.
$: Don’t let wedlock intimidate you, son. You’ve just gotta march down that aisle, say a few things, pop the ring on her finger and you’re good to go!
#: Excuse me, old man. Just who do you think you are, and why are you breathing scotch–cheap scotch at that–in my face like that? You’re lucky I respect my elders.
&: Honey, don’t be so harsh on the man, he obviously just wants to see you have a good time at your own wedding. I mean, look at you, you’re stiff as a board!
#: What are you doing here, babe?! We’re getting married in a half an hour!
&: Well, you know how those sitcoms always do the wedding treatment, right? I figured I’d give that a shot. Where did that old wedding mumbo jumbo come from anyway? Shouldn’t it be our decision to celebrate it any way we want to?
#: Jesus. Fine, yes. While we’re at it, we might as well sneak in a quickie and shit all over this sacred day.
&: Wow, wow… that was really harsh. I’m having second thoughts about marrying you if you’re going to have that attitude about it.
#: … what a great day for a full 180°. Fine, go ahead and walk away. I don’t know where you intend on going.
&: I can sense from the edge in your voice that you’re not kidding. Honey, I’m just kidding! Please relax, baby.
$: That’s what I was trying to tell him, sugar.
Inferior squabbling tracks down
your peeves and pets them
until you’re all bottled up–
rage turns to passion, often
aggressive creation, callous
ignorance in the face of reason (looking
up at you, practically pouting), and
you hate what you’ve become, but
look at what you’ve done! Masterpiece.
We cage ourselves
and our situations. Though
the walls have large gaps,
we pretend not to see
friends’ adjacent troubles–
we constructed these borders for a reason.
Some of us prefer to swallow the key,
though I leave my cage unlocked.
WHARVED 