Single White Male


Into drive-ins, tight sweaters, old biker movies,

good Chinese take-out, Thai coffee, roller coasters,

library archives, cattail marshes, ballroom dancing.

Prefers Anna Karenina with a corvette, tempted by

high-speed finger-fucking on interstates at rush

hour. No machinists. Welders, ok. Understands how

despair was a blessing for Elijah. If you could

perform unnecessary root canal on any celebrity,

who would you choose? Likes the story about the

football game between the Insects & the Mammals, &

how the Mammals were winning until Centipede joined

the Insects late in the second half, & how all the

reporters gathered around Centipede after the game

to ask him what took so long, & how Centipede answered

because he had to tape his ankles. Isnít scared of

Bob the Wasp. Enjoys reading Dr. Seuss. People arenít

thinking for themselves. People have not been thinking

for themselves for a while now. Rice artichokes

spinach black beans lemonade cinnamon roll

potato chips ginseng root miso tempeh french fries

macaroni & cheese Pace. Knows the timeless beat of

frog in the cold coffee cups of janitors asleep in

boiler rooms. Does not have the hips of a

twelve-year-old boy. Is at home in the orbit swept

clean by Mercury as that swept clean by Pluto. Sex

near childbirth find. Exhortation is your gift, even

if you seek nothing other than refuge from the ďBandits

of hope and fear.Ē Iím not Goldfinger. And how come

you donít know who you are? Is it speech is too slow?

That it takes too long to express? Because something

inside is broken? Because somebody broke it? Because

you donít remember what was broken? Because you are

spirit and the universe is also spirit? You still

get carded. Remember how to diagram a sentence. Can

chop an onion. Bury a child. Would rather give and

receive. Dresses up in blue on Saturday night. Sees

the present as an explosion that literally blows the

paint off your masterpiece.  Makes love below sea-level,

above 12,000 feet, amidst salt-water tears, cragged

peaks. Will give out the telephone number for the tiny

booth under the flickering light of her unlisted heart.



24 May 1993



[Published in Grasslands.

© 1994 by Jim Cohn.]




(Writers & Books Publications, 1994)