by Mark Yakich
On the couch, suffocated with teddy bear by husband.
On the couch, smoke-drunk, throat full of puke.
On the couch, struck by meteor of sizable dimension.
On the couch, unidentified illness.
On the kitchen floor, choked on olive pit.
Choked on under-masticated slice of salami.
Choked on walnut shell.
Choked on cherry tomato, golden.
Trapped in grain silo.
Trapped in remote cave with vermin, after breaking leg.
Mown down by best friend on ski slope; moguls.
Sepsis.
In a car at the bottom of a lake.
With loved ones in a car, at the bottom of a lake, watching them go first.
After a barroom fight, boozed, cirrhotic.
Shot, randomly in the French Quarter.
Shot, by unknown assailant.
Shot, with gun purchased for the purpose of self-infliction.
Shot, easily and without thought.
Shot, left shoulder grazed, then shot again.
Overdose.
Heatstroke, hiking country roads, third day of vacation.
Strangled with silk or wool scarf, depending on the season.
Everest.
Misadventure; cell phone, cliff.
Misadventure; child, cliff.
Bird strike.
Run down by autobus, streetcar, or truck carrying fresh fish.
Complications from diabetes, appendicitis, or face transplant surgery.
Melanoma on cheeks and scalp.
Uncontrollable nosebleed.
Mudslide; humanitarian mission in Tajikistan.
Odorless gas.
Botched colonoscopy.
Drowned in storm drain after flash flood.
Asphyxiated due to buildup of deodorizing aerosol in a confined space.
Bark scorpion bite, rabid dog bite, shark bite, near infinite number of
fire ant bites.
Cardiac arrest after severe exhaustion in hammock.
Misadventure with lawn mower and cigar.
Broadsword; schizophrenia.
Lightning strike in Central Park during oral sex with gigolo.
Anaphylaxis caused by bee sting or chickpea.
Cancer of colon, esophagus, liver, or lungs.
Cancer of tongue, pancreas, prostate, ovaries, breasts, or brain.
Rectal cancer; starvation.
Pulverization by immense object, such as construction crane ballast.
Terrorist bombing.
Drone, collateral damage.
Decapitation by helicopter propeller.
Multiple strokes.
Stabbing and blood loss caused by shank, pencil, or chopstick.
Mule.
Bear mauling while on the lam.
Cattle or bison stampede.
Avalanche.
Accidental lead poisoning.
Arsenic or cyanide.
Cannibalism; undisclosed business trip.
Rusty razor blade; lockjaw.
Baseball to the temple or chest.
Influenza, diphtheria, malaria.
Plane crash over Atlantic, Pacific, Arctic, or Indian Oceans.
Plane crash on tarmac; fire engines directed to incorrect runway.
Aneurysm.
Mercury poisoning due to taking temperature with antique thermometer.
Dysentery.
Hot-air balloon malfunction after sudden squall.
Ingested toothpick; peritonitis.
Multiple-car crash on I-55.
Huffing.
Fork, toaster: electrocution.
Tasered by law enforcement.
Hernia, complications from surgery on.
Falling coconut while retiring in Guam.
Assassination.
Extensive burns, tourist rocket launch failure.
Paper cutter.
Lethal injection.
Waterskiing disaster with boat, buoy, and small boy.
Lost at sea.
Castaway.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
II
MY FAITH
Twice upon a time,
Like a fish up a tree,
Applaudable in its failure.
PARENTING FROM CHICAGO TO ABU DHABI
By cutting each grape into eighths,
I protect small children from probable death.
Too few people are prepared
To do this. Yet one must not be afraid
To smuggle a plastic knife on board
A 787. It may be by design that I adore
The children. But I won’t complain
About my life’s station
Or the depth of my pocket protector
Fathoming. Because someday
These children shall perhaps
Outgrow a need for minced grapes,
And I’ll be discarded as all things
Made—well or not—in China.
AUTISM
Our daughter never puts her mind on display,
Like a jewel too precious to own, or an animal
Too wild to cage. At church she’s able to sit still,
But then for weeks rattles off the names of poisonous
Snakes and admonishes us that Knowledge lies
Only outside of Creation. She stops playing in the yard
Because the tomatoes have turned to apples,
And tells this truth to dinner guests as though
It’s a family secret. At night, she sings her brother
To sleep with words like inchoate and caliginous.
And when she loves, you had better pay more
Than attention, because she does it like a curse
And will punish you simply for bearing witness.
MARRIAGE
Whereas you can never truly
Hold your own hand. Whereas
Thieves work better in pairs.
Whereas it’s difficult to hold hands
And handguns at the same time.
Whereas difficult, not impossible.
A SONG MEANS LITTLE WITHOUT SEPARATION
Hardly ever
Did I blow your brothers
In my mind—all three
At once? I didn’t let anybody inside me
You hadn’t already abandoned.
So now I’m returning to our old kingdom,
To lay our miscarried son
On the surface of the pond
We dug for him last July.
And I will step into him like
A canoe. Don’t try to stop
Me. If we float
I’ll write
Again; if not, goodbye.
LOVE POEM FOR EX-WIFE
Everyone has a story
He’s tired of telling.
For example,
A child dies and
It’s as natural
As a flower blooming.
And a plane crash is,
As you once said,
Just a “plain crash”—
No more absurd
Than a bouquet
Of fresh-cut flowers.
But, love, never deny it—
Nature’s an asshole.
When I retire
I’m going to camp out
In the backyard,
Every other night,
And dream
Of fucking you.
&nbs
p; OBJECT LESSON
His six-year-old finally opened the bathroom door.
Dripping wet, she held out a towel. “It’s beautiful, Dad.
But it doesn’t work very well. It belongs in a museum.”
She was right. He’d just thrown out the old towels
And bought new ones, with stunning, intricate patterns
Of loops and arabesques in bright beige and sea green.
But they were too smooth on both sides and would
Need dozens of washes before they’d feel okay.
A week later his daughter, naked, leaving a trail of water
Down the hall through the dining room and into the kitchen,
Stood before him: “Where are all the towels?”
He’d returned them to the store, but told her he’d mailed
Them off to the children’s museum. “Why did you do that!”
“You said they were too pretty,” he said. “I meant
They shouldn’t be touched by anyone except me.”
He looked into her eyes, as though they were not
Part of her face, and led her by the hand to the bedroom,
To the walk-in closet filled with his ex-wife’s clothes.
“Use whatever you like but this,” he said, reaching
For the nightgown. “It’s silk and won’t absorb a thing.”
UNORIGINAL SIN
Does everybody feel like a kink
in the evolutionary chain, or was that merely us
post-coitus at the All Seasons Inn?
At the tail end of sex you didn’t climb
out of my body; you entered it deeper as I pulled away.
Booty, you said, glorifies gravity.
When I told you I was appalled
by your God, you asked me to strip in front of
the Gideons, open to Romans 12:1,
Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice,
holy and pleasing. When I told you I was afraid of
the sunrise, you said The sun never rises—
only people do. That was the moment
I loved only you. We were old,
but we liked to watch the young
lovers from behind stained curtains
at the outdoor café, because they left us nothing
more than platitudes to say.
NAIVE CONVICTION
Somewhere a millionaire lover is leaving you,
Even if you’re the one flying closer to
The speed of sound in the other
Direction. You might offer
To hike your pantalones up and down or sit hard
On his face, periodically interlarding
All the Spanish you can remember.
But he’s not going to do you on his leather
Office divan. It’s too expensive.
If you want unmitigated affection,
Go to the bank and stand underneath the cameras.
(Don’t wear a bra.)
Or call Momma while watching soft porn on TV.
(Tears often require technology.)
Whatever you do, don’t extend
Your neck like a defeated mime and don’t send
In a rhyme to do a bitch’s work. Anal sex
Works best if the body beats the mind to it.
LOVE POEM FOR EX-HUSBAND
It’s true
That when our daughter died
I mended a hole
In my favorite dress
But then didn’t wear it to sit shivah.
It’s also true that for a year
I wrote and wrote and wrote
Until my teeth hurt
From sucking on pills and candies.
But now there are only
Two truths (no lie) left to me:
I enjoy riding men in a blond wig
Made out of her hair;
And I’ll go to hell before
I’ll give you back her dumb dog.
ANTIDEPRESSANTS
The mosquito in the room buzzes.
It is Berryman without a tranquilizer.
The poet’s quarrel with himself
Turned out to be a battle with a god
Gone to seed. I, too, feel
The moron. No more sobbing
On the top stair. No more delirious
Laughter when the dive
Doesn’t happen. Kingdom come
Is here for this delicate bug and I
Shall smash it in order to have
Someone else’s blood on my hands.
They say that to walk
In another’s shoes first requires
They are wearing shoes.
They was probably a cobbler.
Life is and is and is suddenly
No joke. The Bhagavad Gita says,
Do a thing not seeking its fruit.
Does that mean I should
Lick my fingers or simply
Wipe the blood away?
RETREAT
One mustn’t imprison mystery in a phrase.
But after ten days of silence I’m pretty good
At pushing daylight around with the curtains.
And I now understand that the way to my wife’s
Heart is through the clothes dryer, setting
The knob to permanent press for seventy minutes.
Songs of anguish and songs of splendor often
Sound exactly the same, and the snoring of
An ocean usually puts us to sleep. But it pains me
That I still haven’t learned how to swim, carry
A tune, or grasp how I evolved into such an ass.
Maybe evolution had nothing to do with it.
FOR MY DAUGHTER
I should have taught you that it’s easier
To forgive a malignant person than a malignant tumor.
I should have taught you to undo hate
By the minutes spent with relatives in peace and quiet,
By the blanks nobody knew were empty.
Sometimes the obvious stated with clarity
Has consequences. Speak when broken.
Ache when opened. The best one can
Say about the world is: Author Unknown.
Still, I try following the path of Sister Gertrude Morgan,
Picturing God nearby in order to keep me
Far away from you. If you ever feel
The need to talk to me again, I grant
You permission to write any sentence you want.
HALFWAY THROUGH LIFE
We went as far as the car would take us.
We who crossed paths with the bus
and lived the whole afternoon through.
We who used to ride bikes like horses,
high enough on the bridle
to touch the animals’ ears with our own.
We who loved our parents because
it felt like winning a contest. Then,
for a moment winning became a terrible
noise. For a moment being a parent was
knowing that the purpose of devotion is
oblivion, and that oblivion rests on
further tests: It’s a tumor, Dad, we said.
With our hands around our necks,
we didn’t worry about being dramatic,
because crossing the parking lot
made as little sense as crossing
over the Lethe. Later, we should have
told him not to worry about anyone
seeing him cry. Those Red Cross
went on killing the same number of moths
as they did butterflies . . .
THERE IS NO DOUBT
Mother thought grief would be romantic,
Like euthanizing a dove with one solid crack.
It was like having to clutch an unclothed
Baby who urinates from both ends.
She imagined she’d shave her head
And run off to a seasonless island
In the Pacific. She just
Drove to the coast and wept
In the car because it stalled on
The overlook and she had to call her son.
On the day of the funeral, she expected
To be full of shame for acting
Like a machine. It was like the day
Her dentist replaced a filling and failed
To notice—until she pointed it out—
That she had a meticulous bite.
She smiled for him through clenched teeth.
It was the only time she ever felt right.
MINDFULNESS
Truthfully
There is no
True thought.
No puddle
In which to drown
A toy poodle
Without picturing
Or framing
A little old lady.
In hospice care
When my mother
Could no longer
Speak for herself,
I reminded her
Grandchildren
That all was
Okay: Excessive
Flatulence is
Harmless, mostly
Involuntary,
And cliché.
PASTORAL
The distance
Between
The old
Bedridden
Couple:
Flashes of gold
Beneath the fish-
Pond ice.
ELEGY FOR THE ENGINEER
Thank you for helping design the guidance system
That took the Apollo to the moon.
Thank you for creating the radar-jamming equipment
Northrop put into the F-15 fighter jet.
