Spitting it Out
by Judy Swann
At night I have trouble sleeping.
In the morning, after a little movement, I focus
on the joys of breakfast, like an old dog.
Night after night I crave voices,
a hypnagogue, disembodied OK, either news or
TV murder shows of blood, violence, and power
(though my womb has
done with all that; though my core has become
self-orienting, like a GMO sunflower)
I can admire a woodpecker tearing
the stuffing out of a garden post and still go after it
with a slamming of doors and a whoop.
Lots of people are like that, like me,
like so many aproned white men at the Eagles BarBQ
tottering on petioles of their own, looking to defend their grills.
So when I say very clearly “Representative!”
taking care to not have my finger over the mike, I’m thinking
of trading up for an éclair or a big lumpy scone
despite the perils of transgression
despite wondering if they are just like us, these woolly adelgids
sucking the sap from friendly hemlocks.
* * * * *
Judy Swann is the orphaned daughter of decent Midwestern people. She is a poet and essayist who publishes fairly frequently both in print and online. She has a book of poetry, Fool, forthcoming from Aldrich Press in 2019 and a book of essays on the cartoon hero Stickman forthcoming from Young Bros in November.