Harriet

Linh Dinh

Gee, Gosh

speaking of G, here’s a poem by Ish Klein:

G.
I have been told to talk to You with my head down
if I did not avert my eyes , you would not hear. Weird,
I thought, for the maker of heaven and earth to be so insecure
or to be living here, amidst the stink. Let me start again,
I come in peace, in a way, being on the side of Life; I am a fan
of your handiwork: flowers, flytraps, burrowing frogs…
But this is not about that, it is about the demons:
Does everyone have them all the time? Like viri or viruses
which flare when the hope is low?
Or is their manner of attack more bacterial?
Incapable of mere occupation. I guess it digests us.
Laying waste attractions and attachments
with their propaganda campaigns.
A moment while I mourn my blown bridges.
(sigh) all right I’m done.
What do the demons see in me? Me, a notoriously poor host;
in my house we sleep on the floor and eat on the floor
but we do not step on the floor; as this is a sore spot .
Maybe they think I want company.
I do not want any company
not that kind.
After I dreamed the demon was taken out of me, tornadoes hit Tennessee; which is where the
man who helps with demons lives
He said they wanted to get me
But why? Am I so weak?
Or am I bad? What if I can’t love because of them?
What if they are the only thing designed to love me?
You are responsible, G., I am applying again for assistance.
I believe my ground down teeth and busted guts are acceptable indicators of my plight as they
are listed in column A
of this application. Which is the fourth I have filled out,
by the way and why is that?
Have I been redistricted to Hell?
Yes? So, that is the point? But you are still at the Helm.
This application is still valid, yes?
I have a right to know what is holding me up!
G., I am tired of living in ignorance with voices and meaningful dreams after days where
everything happened already. This is the expose that may put better minds than mine to these
questions.
This is not a joke. Sure I may say it loud; indecorously before
a room of strangers; but that is part of my plan. After all,
they may know something as to this; hitherto unconsidered by me.
Thugs of the spirit world they are!
And you may be the biggest crime boss of all.
Taking care of the people in heaven with their better things
to do; who will sacrifice blood for you; and think nothing of it.
Of course you own the system; you were the one who forced us into particular bodies initially.
To play with. To infiltrate.
To pay you back. It’s called manipulation, by the way,
those who do it are Creeps.
You see, I am on the wheel beneath your world
the demons are inside me.
The other people do not believe it; this is not their district.
You made it this way; G., you big bully.
I tell you, you will never, NEVER get away with it!
[first published in Philadelphia Independent]

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