Poetry Postings #2
Back when I was just a bit younger, I’d made this distinction between the city and everything else. Everything I liked (literature, poetry, theatre, music, clubs, hot men, fanfiction, etc.) rested firmly within the domain of “city” and therefore “me,” whereas everything I didn’t like about the world was somewhere else and someone else’s problem. Sexism was clearly a non-Canadian thing, as was racism, homophobia, and every other form of hate. 

Now, after quite a few years of getting over myself, two serious trips to the hospital, one long barefoot walk home across a bridge, and volunteering at a women’s centre for a year, I can safely say my worldview has changed.


Bitches, Right?

Bitches, right?
It’s just bark bark bark bark bark.
I let them stay in my house,
eat my food, drink my water,
spend my money, and I keep ‘em company,
but all they do is sit around the house all day 
and bitch and whine.

Bitches, right?
It’s just beg beg beg beg beg.
And yeah, so what if I had mine spayed?
She can’t just go around 
screwing every sly old dog she sees.
Do I look like I'm made of money?
Those pups cost a fortune
and if she has ‘em, it better be when I said so
or else she’s in for it.
Don’t you see I'm protecting that bitch?
She wouldn't know how to do a thing without me.
That’s just biology.

Bitches, right?
It's just whine whine whine whine whine.
I keep her on a leash when I go out,
'Cause sometimes she forgets who's in charge.
When I go out alone — you know, sometimes
you just gotta get away from all the bitches —
I keep her on her leash tied up in the house.
I can't just have her leaving whenever, can I? 
She'd get in trouble, or someone'd see her alone
and not know that she belonged to me.
This way she won't jump on the damn mailman
when he comes around.

Bitches, right?
It’s just bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch.
I figured out that if you give ‘em a kick, 
they shut up for a while, yeah,
they settle back down and remember their place.
But, if you kick ‘em too much,
too often, too hard, they go right for the throat 
and then it’s all just a big mess.


For everything serious, there must be something flippant or naughty to counterbalance it. So, here, we have a provocative Pantoum for your perusal— and for those who enjoy rhyme, an alternate schema. Here, we have a fox with a clandestine craving for cock.


The Contact Contract

(True Pantoum)
A fatal fixation, a finicky flame,
Cravenly, chronically craving for cock,
Callow and candid and cursing he came, 
Tod teetered and tottered while timing each tock,

Cravenly, chronically craving for cock,
Bashfully biding, distracted by dick,
Tod teetered and tottered while timing each tock,
Not daring to dally, he tallies each tick,

Bashfully biding, distracted by dick,
Thriving he thrums with the thrill of the thrust,
Not daring to dally, he tallies each tick,
Tongue luridly lolling, lost in the lust,

Thriving he thrums with the thrill of the thrust,
A fatal fixation, a finicky flame,
Tongue luridly lolling, lost in the lust,
Callow and candid and cursing he came.


(Euphonious Pantoum)
A fatal fixation, a finicky flame,
Callow and candid and cursing he came,
Cravenly, chronically craving for cock, 
Tod teetered and tottered while timing each tock,

Bashfully biding, distracted by dick,
Not daring to dally, he tallies each tick,
Cravenly, chronically craving for cock,
Tod teetered and tottered while timing each tock,

Thriving he thrums with the thrill of the thrust,
Tongue luridly lolling, lost in the lust,
Bashfully biding, distracted by dick,
Not daring to dally, he tallies each tick,

Thriving he thrums with the thrill of the thrust,
Tongue luridly lolling, lost in the lust,
A fatal fixation, a finicky flame,
Callow and candid and cursing he came.

- Charles Michael Averin