Poetry

That's it—It's Over
by J.D. Nelson

Where did the broken wine glasses go?
Who can't we trust anymore?
Was it Abe Lincoln
or maybe one of your parents?
They might have lied to you at some point.
Leave me alone again
I know I make it hard
for others to figure out.
I know everything about racecars
& peanut butter
& starfish
& the nine known planets.
You might not believe in me,
but I have to.
It's all I can do
while I BBQ these rodents
for dinner --
it's always heavy metal month for me.
Would you eat goat meat?
Would you eat horse meat?
Would you eat cow meat?
It's a big meaty planet now.
I ate some actual "vegetables" earlier.
My body is freaking out.
it doesn't know what to do.
I've been twisting my wrists
& praying for sweat
& a great workout.
I chop & chip,
the end of everything
& now we sit in the dark,
licking postage stamps.
No more flying machines
& no more TV
except for the periodic broadcasts
from the government
telling us that every thing is
under control.
I don't even need a cell phone.
I don't have any hamburger wrappers
in the car I don't own.
Hailstones the size of your shriveled heart,
dog face, rat face, human face, ugly face,
no more room for you,
no more babies, please.
I refuse to take care of anyone else.
I don't have enough rations.
Just this powdered jazz.

August/September 2005

That's it—It's Over by J.D. Nelson Where did the broken wine glasses go? Who can't we trust anymore? Was it Abe Lincoln or maybe one of your parents? They might have lied to you at some point. Leave me alone again I know I make it hard for others to figure out. I know everything about racecars & peanut butter & starfish & the nine known planets. You might not believe in me, but I have to. It's all I can do while I BBQ these rodents for dinner -- it's always heavy metal month for me. Would you eat goat meat? Would you eat horse meat? Would you eat cow meat? It's a big meaty planet now. I ate some actual "vegetables" earlier. My body is freaking out. it doesn't know what to do. I've been twisting my wrists & praying for sweat & a great workout. I chop & chip, the end of everything & now we sit in the dark, licking postage stamps. No more flying machines & no more TV except for the periodic broadcasts from the government telling us that every thing is under control. I don't even need a cell phone. I don't have any hamburger wrappers in the car I don't own. Hailstones the size of your shriveled heart, dog face, rat face, human face, ugly face, no more room for you, no more babies, please. I refuse to take care of anyone else. I don't have enough rations. Just this powdered jazz.