The Velvet Jesus After-Party

The Velvet Jesus After-Party

The dog's name is Precious.
He tried to bite me.

I want to stick quarters between his cactus-spikey meth teeth,

shove them back into his smooshed face,

get a washer started,

wash his smell away.

The baby's name is Mercedes,

and they dress her in pageant clothes.

Never mind the snot caked around her nose,

her Cheeto mouth, and brown baby teeth.

The truck is bigger than the trailer.

The license plate says: "My Toy,"

but it belongs to the bank,

and they're coming to get it.

The letter says so.

The puppy-piss-soaked letter

That no one in the house knows how to read.

Velvet Jesus hangs on the wall...powerless.

They know not what they do.

He can only watch:

The Mister and Missus in a fry-pan fight.

The Missus goes to sleep with the neighbor.

They pop commandments like bubble wrap.

Velvet Jesus knows that:

They all drink until 2 a.m. on Sunday morning,

just hours before sliding into the booth at his house,

with their blood-shot eyes,

with liquor on their breath,

because Mawmaw won't cook dinner

unless they attend the salvation after-party.

Last call! Alter call! Communion wine.

Contemplating Frogs in Pots

Contemplating Frogs in Pots

Just put them in lukewarm water,

they say.

Gradually turn up the heat.

They won't try to get out.

They will just float there

and cook.

I think about this.

As the water gets hotter,

surely there will be signs

of distress.

I imagine there would at least be a whimper.

At even the smallest whimper,

I'd grab them off the stove,

rush them outside,

release their bumpy green butts

back into the mossy grass goodness

into the cool.

Hop along, little buddies,

I didn't mean it.

How could they be dumb enough

to float there, cooking,

to not recognize that it's getting hotter?

But some deny global warming,

And some still grease up lily pale skin

and go to bake in the sun.

I start off with lukewarm water,

add myself, a bottle of wine,

a book of poems.

I use my toe to gradually turn the heat up,

and I wonder:

If the water tank was big enough,

and the water could get hot enough,

would I stay in their long enough,

to cook without knowing?

Cooking with wine can be dangerous.

I've fallen asleep in the bath before.

The cold water up to my neck,

my head bobbing to the side.

He noticed I wasn't in bed,

and came and pulled me out

just in time.

He's done this at least twice in 20 years.

Could frogs be dumb enough

to hang out in dangerous waters

and remain mellow as they float

toward their death?

I guess the answer is

yes.