Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Kosciuszko, Part One

(go ahead, press the "play" button and you get your 
very own, very special, and private poetry reading)

shaking and hating and shaking
private hatred is the best there is

little billy tells us his hatred is better
better than the hatred of his schoolmates
little billy opens his veins wide and pours in the hooch
hooch of the spannerdamner orchid squirt
(billy's favorite kind of hooch)
the hooch he drinks straight – straight into his veins

billy had the prettiest veins
veins of royal, royal blue
and the hatred in those veins was the purebred kind
(i'd drop the f-bomb now just to shock and surprise)
the kind that makes the vein taste all bitter-salty
(you know the flavor, darling)
but billy had the prettiest veins
and it was not until those veins went dry
that we all stood up and applauded

the huge crowd of people that were gathered
gathered to sing that song that I know you know
(you love that song, remember?)
(i'd gut you like a trout while you sing that song)
billy stood there with his veins hanging out
“lookit that billy”
shouted the kid from school -
the one who always reeked of blood sausage and onion

i'd call that billy something like billy reuben if I could
billy reuben
billy reuben
there we go.

but billy had that best kind of hatred, the hatred with the heavy accent
a sort of cool sort of hot sort of stickitinyerass and turntillyouscream
sort of accent
(for that makes the best kind of hatred)
billy (i would love to call him billy reuben)
held out his finger for the lady next door to see
his finger was long
and clean, thank god
clean, with no fecal matter under the nail
(like some kids)
(some kids get fecal matter under the nail)
he held up that finger for the lady next door to see
and all that hooch-pouring
bitter-salty f-bomb dropping days
one after the other
after the other
after the other
and billy
(if we could only call him billy reuben)
sitting on the floor and banging his head
on that dirty old cupboard
billy wanted to stink like blood sausage and onion
yeah, that's all it was
billy longed to eat that cabbage stink
and be hauled to church to do whatever they do in churches
and come to school stinking like a little polish kid
in a dumbass sweater in the merry, merry month of may
and stink
and stink
of blood sausage and onion

instead he held out his
for the lady next door to see

1 comment:

  1. Having a poetry available to hear is a great idea! Good poem too.