“Pap Smear City,” poem published by Locus Media Gallery, NYC
I am afraid
to wake up that one spastic morning
when the lump in my throat
will have spread
to the crack of my ass.
Roz Abrams
is on MTV.
She is firm-chested cancer
Eye witness death
Until sleep releases its gas.
I will wish
I had shed one more tear
When the doctor looks up from my lap
And says, “Insurance is an illusion.”
I will fantasize about his oral love
while he writes my prescription for suffering.
The birds on Avenue B
never eat off the street,
they hover over my head
and watch me take my chances.
My mother would slam the window all night,
but my father was already gone…
Back to Eyewitness news:
“A study has concluded that it is more important to New Yorkers that their lover is better for their work life than their sex life. The study also concluded that is more important to New Yorkers that their lover be better for their work life than their sex life- Roz.”
Casper the friendly show host
is spreading infection
because fame
does not impress his parents.
His eyes are sheets
that remind me to shave.
A smile spreads his legs
to fertilize my grave.
The subway
digs from platform to platform,
though all the interesting people have left New York.
Laura Dinnebeil 