The Fiddleback

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Plans

Give up bread
Love a little less
Use the words feral and inchoate
Call a lover sir,
           spill semen onto his stomach
Forget feminism
Eat a tomato
Diagram personal wins and losses in a pie
Stop envying law degrees
           and dicks
Eat, shit, sleep
Disregard patterns and commas
Reevaluate relationship to dogs
            and those who love them
Demand a higher credit limit
Migrate to California
Meet a man who knows
            how to grommet
Bake him a quiche
Drink whiskey
            without the aid of Coke
Learn to smoke and then quit
Rewrite this poem with fewer vowels
           Refuse all help

When I Threw that Lamp at You

I meant to say I don’t like the way you looked at me
just then, your eyes both desirous and fatherly,
you hands angled at your sides like guns.
I meant, where did all the Spanish in your hips go?
It’s been three weeks since you tried to sneak into my asshole.
I meant to say I changed my mind, I like oranges after all.
Can we start feeding again? I meant,
where is the vampire in you? I don’t ask for much.
Take humor, for example, I am happy with dick jokes and slurs.
I meant to say maybe it’s not possible to lust and love
like Geryon and Herakles, or it’s possible, but only in Cambodia.
This is the problem with living among strip malls.
This is the problem with neurotics and quiet, Swedish furniture.
Just give me the screwdriver, and I’ll fix it.




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Kiki Vera Johnson was born and raised in Cambridge, MA. She was a winner of the 2010 Her Mark Poetry Prize and has been published by Southeast Review. Kiki is currently pursuing her MFA at the University of North Carolina Wilmington. She works as a freelance book designer.

 

Volume 2, Issue 2 Back to top