I Asked for It

Now while

Paratroopers, sipping glasses of red and white wine,

Drift on their parachutes

Through the chambers

Of the Churches of God;

While books with fluttering pages

Vaporize into a fragrant mist,

Which lifts off the roofs of houses;

While small boys stoke fires in suburban homes;

Take my hand,

Pull up a chair with the other one,

And try to tell me of

The nature of reality.

 

If the salts precipitate from my blood while you talk,

Making little scraping noises in my veins and arteries,

As my blood circulates;

Or if my shoes

Shrivel up and decide

To be pleased frogs;

Or if my arms

Become metallic and clunk hollowly,

As I lean my elbows on the table;

Take heed and talk louder and more interestingly

So that my ears should burn and my breast burst

With the loveliness and movingness

Of your words.

 

I am prepared for whatever

May come out of your mouth–

I have spent years in preparing myself;

And if I prove unable to take it,

At least say that I asked for it,

As they throw me into a vacant lot

And drive back to town,

Yawning with boredom

At the job

Of discarding my body.