Bowels of Houses

No, thank you. I reject your generous offer. I will leave the envelope, still sealed, here on the table, and walk away, backwards, out the door. This is a robin wrapped in tape. I left it untaped near its face so it can still breathe and sing. Do you want to read some of my poems? This one is about coffee: Hey, let’s get some coffee. / Cool, that’s sounds good. I mean, ‘that sounds good.’ I mean, “that sounds good.” your critique is pretty harsh, Marsha. Mellow out. Marsha-mellow? Awesome. I can’t believe it’s taking him this long to sell us coffee! Let’s go to the cinema.
The robin tries to spread its wings, but my tape holds it in place. sliced deli turkey is mainting its temperature. Hup! The turkey’s getting colder. Hup! The turkey’s getting warmer. Peter doesn’t eat before he gets on the plane. “I’ll be sitting there all day,” he thinks. “No point in eating if I’m just sitting there all day.” Then, ravenous on the plane,
he drinks four bloody marys and gets an erection. Neither of his neighbor passengers is asleep. One is a man, one a woman. Peter’s in the middle. He thinks of them as his cartoon conscience: the devil on the left shoulder, angel on the right. The angel is flipping through an in-flight mail-order catalog. The devil reads Time.