I was a goner, they said. Oh
well. Could’ve been worse.
Could’ve been born
before they dug up
all the words. & we’d just stand
around trying not to
explode. I wanted,
above all, & with no
regard for human life, to play my Atari
& be alone without ugliness.
I admit I liked people best when
they’re far away inside
me. Like on the phone
in the 90s. Could’ve
been worse. Could’ve
forgotten to invent scented markers
on purpose. The truth is, as
president, I was kind of a
walk-on. Most people hated
my guts. Others envied my
insane tallness. So I rubbed it in
by wearing the most obnoxious
hat ever made. I should’ve
worn it that night—but the war
was over &, like you, you bastard,
I was full of hope & liquid
dreams. Way back, before
the locomotive, I was actually
pretty, girlish even. But I aged 1,000 fucking years
in 3 winters just to show you
what it takes. To be the leader of endless
cannons. Asking fucked up
questions around fucked up
gentlemen. I was
the president of a place
melting away & never there, over
the bones of mothers
I can no longer
imagine. My liver’s shit
& consumption’s up there
in these parts. Most days I envy
the captain of the Titanic. I won’t
explain.
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