47. Mayo Shavings

I took your poison. I ate your biscuits. Mine was the tribulation of the denim saw-blade. Mine the unfurled majesty of this kick in the crotch. I spit at your train droppings. I claw out my eyes as a gesture of contempt. I know that I will have the last laugh, except that you’ll laugh after I have it. Or so I imagine.

Why won’t you be nice to me? Won’t you please like me? I never wronged you, never lipped you, never gathered you into a pile for the derision of flea collars. Wasps are feasting on my brains, wondering. What could I have done to earn your favor? Mine was the least cooked of deals. You ripped my life away from me, but not because you wanted it.

I swim in garbage, floating detritus of a Machiavellian glove attendant, and oh, the parties that ensue! It’s a real elbow-rubbing kind of thing, and I am topical celebrities lined up in a row like cornstalks, planted. Planted. Can I get you a drink? An hors d’oeuvre, perhaps? Your picture on the wall, painted by the Italian masters? What do I have to do in this sweaty vise of a grizzled mystery to get a decent fucking beer?

With this brain, I am. With this brain, I rebuild the ashes of resurrected charlatans. With this brain, I toil under the sun of a thousand clawing indignities. With this brain, I cannot forget. With this brain, I shoot hamsters with a gumball machine and grind their pestilential little skeletons into a powdery substance that is used in the finest beauty creams, the hundreds-of-dollars-for-a-dinky-little-jar kind. With this brain, I will engage you for a time, and perhaps get you to do favors for me. With this brain, I cannot fly. With this brain, I am imprisoned, fastened, carried, butchered, held, forgotten, licked, hung.

When did I ever get the notion that I could be like you? How did you convince me that being like you was what I wanted? I’m biting concrete slabs over here, and you’re asking me where I got my sweater. There’s a disconnect. I must try to leave behind my pleasant notions of a life untroubled. I clutch at them as though they were a teddy bear.

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