I Was Happy Once
By Susan Musgrave
but, hey, listen up, nothing lasts.
They put me in a body bag when my bandages
came off, zipped me up quick off and sent me
home to somebody else’s life. I know
what I know. Your letters from death row
say you are making a comeback, my killer
cool love and a lifelong dependency
on pharmaceuticals got you through,
and Hallelujah you’ve found
Jesus, too. I’m just about done like some
lonesome dog’s dinner when I come to with this
smoking gun down the back of my throat
and a personage of great personal magnitude,
like God with a world view, comes creeping
into my room saying open your mouth and close
your eyes today or next week you are going
to die. Turns out he was acting
on false information. My body was no weapon
of mass destruction, only a self-destructive mass
with gumdrop nipples and hardcore angel eyes.
Sometimes when I feel righteous I check out
into a Holiday Inn, take time off my own
life to smoke crack or whatever designated
drug is currently discombobulating
the minds of the glued to-their-TV’s
in-terror-populace this aeon. I was happy,
once, letting snowflakes fry on my tongue -
I’d rather open my mouth for a snowflake
than a gun. But God is pushing the deadlier
weapons these days, not even a snowflake
falls on my eyelids anymore without leaving
a bruise. Your last letter began “I’d die
for you,” and because that sounded promising
I made the mistake of reading through
to the inevitable end. “Did you ever
receive that money order I was supposed to
send? I need it back. Asap.” Love don’t
suck dead dog dick, pistol. Love supposed
to kick ass, way Jesus do.
Susan Musgrave didn't know this was coming, tonight.
Published On: July 1, 2008
Permanent Location: http://www.forgetmagazine.com/080701a.htm
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