Friday, June 3, 2011

poem of the day 06.03.11

fear of flying

fear of flying to europe
delayed flight four hours
drunk in a jfk lounge
with people clacking away on their cellphones
and watching television on their laptops

fear of flying
fear of communication breakdowns
the whole world gone mad
because bin laden is dead
and my only wish
is that the goddamned president
had waited another month or so to kill him
before i decided to get on a plane

i mean why not?
we’d already waited ten years
what’s another week in the war on terror?

fear of flying
fear of america
and erica jong

curious about why i don’t read women writers
must have something to do with my penis

fear like a big itchy ballsack

fear of animals

i hope my cats are okay at my in-laws
one of them can no longer eat hard food
and the other has a bad heart murmur

fear of my cats no longer recognizing my face
or of them dying on me before i get back

fear of flying
fear of taking off and landing
deathly afraid of turbulence
or getting that one motherfucker
who puts their chair back the whole flight

fear of whatever it is that they
pass off as food on the airplane

fear of the in-flight movie selections

fear of the atlantic ocean and all of its majesty
every time that i got to europe
i have to keep the windows shut

because contemplating that much water
makes me feel as though i’m bound to drown

fear of leaving the apartment
did i shut off the coffee pot?
unplug the lights?
lock the windows?
lock the door?
turn off all of the faucets?
take down the garbage
because it’s full of rotting meat?
the stove?

did i even use the stove that day?

fear of all of the mail being held
the bills that will be waiting when i get back
the lease renewal

fear of the landlord raising the rent

fear of flying
fear of losing a job
because they are talking about layoffs again
three years running

fear of everything all of the time
and it makes me tired of fear

i think i’ll stop being afraid
have another beer in this lounge
or go and look for a book by erica jong

finally find out what in the hell
a zipless fuck is after all of these years

or maybe locate my wife somewhere at 30,000 feet
and induct us both into the mile high club.

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