National Poetry Month

In 1996, the Academy of American Poets designated April as National Poetry Month so while I’m most definitely not a poet, I thought I’d challenge myself to contribute something here.  This free-form verse was inspired by a memory from Amherst Junior High School, an ugly period of my adolescence.  Hope I did it justice.

Garbled Messages

We called her Garbled Messages,

Because, she spoke in fetal words,

Quivering, breathe-y, spitty words,

If you stood too close, you got sprayed in the face,

 

We never got that close or paid her much attention,

But the classroom silenced,

Shook up like a soda bottle ready to foam and cackle,

Whenever it was her turn to speak.

While we became sly masters of witticism,

The put-down:  Pass the ball, ass-face,

Quit being such a Gaylord,

Don’t stick out your tongue unless you’re gonna use it,

And the turns of phrase:  Twat did you say?

I cunt hear you.  I have an ear infuck-tion.  I need some penis-cillin.

We illuminated subtexts everywhere,

Since the subtext of everything was always sex.

I never looked at Garbled Messages,

Too much, though I wondered,

Was she retarded?  The greatest shame of Junior High,

She seemed the same as other girls,

Pretty even, though she wore a lot of make-up,

And dressed in ironed blouses and wool skirts,

Like her mom wanted her to bypass junior, senior high completely,

And go out into the world as a Secretary.

Still, we called her Tard and Dufus and Bocey,

At least behind her back,

Bocey, I later learned, derived from,

Board Of Cooperative Educational Services,

The place where all the Special Ed. kids went after lunch,

In the bus known popularly as the Retard Wagon,

I wish I could say that I never used those words,

But I did, so this is my confession.

Celebrating Pat Parker

So I got this blurb and poem from White Crane as my daily e-mail dose of gay wisdom, and I couldn’t resist posting it here.  Born January 21, 1944, Pat Parker was a Black, lesbian poet who I was unaware of until today.  She was a fierce advocate for social justice (she died in 1989) and author of several books:  “Movement in Black,” “Child of Myself,” and “Jonestown and Other Madness.”

One of her poems is an excellent skewering of heterosexism, and I think its message still holds up today (e.g. the brouhaha over Adam Lambert’s performance at the American Music Awards covered in Rolling Stone here).  Enjoy.

For Straight Folks who Don’t Mind Gays but Wish They Weren’t So Blatant

You know, some people got a lot of nerve.  Sometimes I don’t believe the things I see and hear.

Have you met the woman who’s shocked by two women kissing, and, in the same breath, tells you that she’s pregnant?

But gays shouldn’t be so blatant.

Or this straight couple sits next to you in a movie and you can’t hear the dialogue because of the special effects.

But gays shouldn’t be so blatant.

And the woman in your office spends an entire lunch hour talking about her new bikini drawers and how much her husband likes them.

But gays shouldn’t be so blatant.

Or the “hip” chick in your class rattling like a mile a minute, while you’re trying to get stoned in the john, about the camping trip she took with her musician boyfriend.

But gays shouldn’t be so blatant.

You go into a public bathroom and all over the walls there’s John loves Mary, Janice digs Richard, Pepe loves Delores, etc., etc.

But gays shouldn’t be so blatant.

Or you go to an amusement park and there’s a tunnel of love with pictures of straights painted on the front and grinning couples are coming in and out.

But gays shouldn’t be so blatant.

Fact is, blatant heterosexuals are all over the place. Supermarkets, movies, on your job, in church, in books, on television every day and night, every place–even in gay bars–and they want gay men and women to hide in the closet.

So to you straight folks I say, “Sure I’ll go if you go too. But, I’m polite, so after you.”

Happy Birthday Pat Parker!!