my fingers smell like pencil shavings,
nail polish remover, and hairspray
i bet satan is a woman.
everyone knows women are evil.
all women are harlots,
sluts, and tramps. we ache to be touched
even when we say no. we want your dirty bones
and scars plastered against dewy skin. we dream
about it.
i bet satan is a woman
for women are bloody creatures
snotty with mucus and loathing.
they move like the ocean, or the sound
of a saxophone against an empty sky.
all women are inherently uneasy about themselves
about the shape and size of their bodies
and the way their hips curve like shells or mountains.
my hair is the color of a roll of pennies,
faded crumbled bricks, and dried blood
i bet god is a man.
everyone knows men are benevolent.
all men are benefactors,
donators, and goodwill do-ers. they love to give
even when no one would care to receive. demented santa clause’s
like to give away dirty bones and lumps of shameful coal,
and then brag about it.
i bet god is a man,
for men are useless creatures
covered in glacier and rock.
they move like oxen, or the sound
of a bugle playing taps.
all men are determined to be bigger, longer, and better
then the man in the urinal next to him.
they peek across dividers like women worried about wearing
identical dresses to a high society party.
my nose is pointed like the cap napolean wore,
the roof of an attic and a weather vane.
copyright EAK 1998
index of poems