Once, I was an Angry Pengiun by J. Bradley© 2012 by J. BradleyPenguin : Matthew NewTitle font : bebascover: NAPchapbook: NAPnaplitmag.com

Once, I Was An Angry Penguin

J. Bradley

There Is No Poetry Without The “O”

I’m not burning for you. It is the lighter fluidfive feet away from the fuse of the bottle rocketthat will hit the mannequin hand which will fire the crossbow into the floating balloon, dropping a breath mint and an unopened condom into my palm.

The fire extinguisher is beneath the bed. The cell phone is open, 9-1-1 already dialed. I checked the crossbow sights twice. I Googled the most direct route to the emergency room. I promisenothing will go wrong.

Get The Wheel. Let’s Got For A Ride.

I fingered your number like loosened buttons.The walls rehearsed weighing your hands.My shoulder blades spelled vowels. Consonants kissed beneath the archof my back. My curled toes serenaded themlike a gondolier. I closed my eyes like pennies.

The Glove Compartment Is Inaccurately Named

Shade my teeth with your lipstick. Lose all the chewing gum you want accidentally.

I do not gorge and purge. I sawed holesin my stomach. I sit on my couchupside down to get what I swallowedfrom my toes.

You are the eating disorder I always wanted.

Missing You Is An Olympic Sport

I hold my thumb and forefinger wide,develop a callus regarding our distance.

I exhausted the vault of my gumsand teeth. My hands burn like Polaroidswhen thinking of your neck.

I gouge numbers from calendarsexcept for the ones that matter;I’m the champion of counting backwards.

A Letter From A Former Flightless Bird

Once, I was an angry penguin.I carried grudges on my backlike rockets.

I mainlined the ashesof the Wright Brothers. When I jumped off a chair,I still fell.

My shoulders and arms didn’t take to wax, feathers, or sunlight; all I’m capableof piloting is wine.

I named your arms ‘labyrinth’.I ate apples caught in mid fall.

East Delaware Place

I’m sorry I broke quarantine.I intended to leave behinda sore throat, raw cellularstructure differently.

When you cough, imaginemy mouth is an orderlysoothing your neck.

When you sweat, collect itin washcloths. Use themto remind me the proper flavor of a fever.

When you can’t get out of bed,pretend I’m next to you, smackthe Snooze button like my cheek;I’ll ask for more in nine minutes.

No Song Titles Were Harmed In The Writing Of This Poem

On the days your body spoils, I’d still kiss you even when you grit your teeth.

I’ll let you call my arms a buggy,collect everything you need in themwhile your Pasteurization unravels,pretend Kardashian reality televisioncan armor white blood cells.

Make my chest an emergency room.My hands will see you now.

This Pricey Stuff Makes Me Dizzy

Friday nights, I run rejection drillsin the bathroom mirror, sharpenthe machete of your name.

Saturdays, I drink at home alone. After the third, “Hi” McDunnough and I talk about fatherhood, the filthy romance in armed robbery.

I’ll keep the pantyhose awayfrom my head, my handsunloaded at all times.

The Monogamist Flunks Botany

While you slept, I emptiedthe champagne bottle.

I sat on the edge of the bedlike a crow’s nest, peeredat the television for shore.

I rehearsed the way I wouldgive you flowers; that’s whyyou woke up with an emptywine glass near your face,in my fist.

Suze Orman Dreams In Seminars

I need to teach your armsthe fiscal responsibilityof cuddling.

I’ll wear six pairs of boxers,the fly gagged with duct tapeas an embargo.

I’ll record Ben Bernanke, cut out the words I need,then put them back togetheras guiding hands.

I’m taking away your paperand ink so you can’t floodthe market with promises.

Acknowledgments

“There Is No Poetry Without The ‘O’” originally appeared in Bluestem.

“Get The Wheel. Let’s Go For A Ride” originally appeared in Red Lightbulbs.

“The Monogamist Flunks Botany” and “A Letter From A Former Flightless Bird” appeared in NAP.

“East Delaware Place” originally appeared as part of The Serotonin Factory’s Friday Love Poem series.

“No Song Titles Were Harmed In The Writing Of This Poem” originally appeared in decomP.

About the Author

J. Bradley is the Interviews Editor of PANK Magazine. He lives at iheartfailure.net.

Other books by J. Bradley:

Dodging Traffic (Ampersand Books, 2009)The Serial Rapist Sitting Behind You is a Robot (Safety Third Enterprises, 2010)My Hands Are As Thick As Dreams(Patasola Press, 2011)A Patchwork of Rooms Furnished by Mistakes (Deckfight Press, 2011)The Jujitsu of Macking (Red Ceilings Press, 2011)Our Hearts Are Power Ballads (Artistically Declined Press, 2011)How Esmeralda Estrus Got Her Revenge (Corrupt Press, 2011)We Will Celebrate Our Failures(NAP, 2012)Bodies Made of Smoke (HOUSEFIRE, 2012)