Saturday, May 9, 2009

and I didn't even know it.

Just finished teaching Sideshow School. A student brought a poem that was written by one of her sisters about yours truly and I will share it with you now.

By: Megan Grumbling

He starts the drill and snarls. On his own cue
he'll take it up the nose for us., fools fresh
off the dirt beach. We're green, have bought these huge
Freaks Beers, lugged them up to the edge of grease-
s,eared bleachers, smutty dark. We're here to watch 
the tattooed fringe stick weir lengths right inside
themselves - rods, bits, snakes, fire, steel nails - to gawk
at hairy Mexicans strut the thin line
stretched low over the stage. We straddle cracks,
some sketchy slats. Dark down there. We clutch rails
not nailed so well, skirt squeamish heights, the back
bride-sumped bathroom's used tampon in a  pail.
Spooked giddy beyond margins, fully loath
to mire in middling, were swigging with both

hands when our MC's nostrils flare. You guys
nervous? He smells us, glares. You should be. Grips
us by our very sphincters and we rise
all right, near squealing - that is, till he flips
us off, smirks: Cause I'm drunk! Cackles. Still, mean drill
nears orifice, and Shhhhhhhh ! his furious hiss
admonishes, as if loose din could kill,
as if for life and art and damn he's pissed
at our philistine shit. But that's not it
at all. Cause soon the slow pimp sneer slides back,
fondles and mocks out saucer eyes, our spread 
lips; poises drill for taking, thrusts his last
taunt: Listen! And damn, does he get this drill,
know that we've paid to hear it all.

Cool poem eh? But just for the record I use the "I'm drunk." line in my juggling act not the blockhead. You would have to be crazy to blockhead drunk!!

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