The title is the reason
for this creative session—
it just seemed
an appropriate name
for so many things.
An oyster restaurant on the pier.
A sushi lounge bathed in florescence.
Porno that doesn’t beat
around the bush, straight action.
Some televised Smack-Down
that would leave the Midwest
drunk and agitated
with rolled-up sleeves.
If I were a greater poet
I’d transition from the title
to the cleanest part
of the most obvious metaphor,
avoiding crude lines altogether,
without unpolished gruff
and umbilical cord reminders,
straight to bonnets,
nursery rhymes that
sing themselves off the page,
leaving you shocked and awed
at how we enter naked
into a world of loving arms.
I’d make millions with an HBO
screenplay based on this poem,
rehearse interview responses
in the bathroom mirror,
date the lead actress,
buy an island,
before going public
that it was all just a joke,
some July Monday catch-phrase
that perfectly described life.
LOCATION: Outside Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
