Author Archives: bpmcgackin

Ice Cream

There are only so many flavors of
sex, the best always the original
recipes, homemade concoctions meant to
combine all your favorite tastes in one
sugary mouthful. The metaphor can
extend to toppings and creaminess, high
and low quality, scoop size, brand and price,
but all I care about is how nice it
makes me feel, life’s little dessert, a sweet
release at the end of a too-long day.
It doesn’t need to be gourmet, so long
as it melts at the right temperature,
and every so often I would love
to be allowed to have it for breakfast.

Election Day Haiku

No sonnet today,
but don’t let that crushing news
stop you from voting!

Pillow

Lullaby and goodnight and goodnight and
I think this is a corporation I
could run, the progressive shunning of light.
If they let me I could keep statistics
on who needed how much, whose lack of hours
were sadistic and whose were just sad facts
in their overworked life experience.
At least make me a foreman, watching the
floor from an upper office, all the world’s
employees dreaming for me, a modern
glass menagerie of swanky business
luxury keeping me company as
I inspected nocturnal delights, as
I skipped from desk to bedroom in the night.

Nyquil

Put me to sleep: I’m drunk on my weakness,
in need of being needy, a grievance
to those who would ever hold me or hold
me back or hold back my hair if I were
a girl or a hippie or something new.
I’m a bit delusional, and not just
from the drags. I’m addicted to the next
step in every situation, my
fix a sheer lack of gratification;
only, when I’m in the act of my wish
fulfillment I glimpse cracks of a new light.
It doesn’t have to be this way; I don’t
have to live this life. I can choose to be
or change or grow or put myself to sleep.

Rowboat

The priest or the deacon or the sexton
or whomever I was meant to listen
to astutely told me secrets about
God, that eternal Jerk, and I slighted
Him by lowercasing his Gs, Js, and
Hs until it hurt something awful
to look at his picture on the abbey
wall, the one he took of himself by the
hill while on his vacation or mission
or whatever the kids are calling it
these epochs, for if god is in the great
paintbrushes of the world, then all his works
are tremendous acts of sheer vanity,
so row me out of that museum, please.

Gravel

There were once great rocks in the world, large and
undocumented, allegedly, though
I don’t have much evidence that it was
ever any different from today.
There are impressions, massive cracks and chasms,
fissures in the world suggesting tumult
and upheaval, and I assumed that there
couldn’t be chaos without first order,
but maybe we’re moving towards the greatness,
the opposite of entropy, and there
were never good old days, never bigger
rocks yet to break themselves against the wall
of time, that massive steel factory, that
pump of iron and solidarity.

Music Video

Bitches be doin’ whatever bitches
be doin’ when you pay them a day rate
to subjugate themselves for the male gaze.
The visuals are extraordinary
for 4-minute social commentaries
made to persuade bored office employees
to blow their low wages on mp3s.
I may not know art, but I know that this
isn’t art, the equivalent of a
musical heart attack, bass boom cracking
in the back of a Cadillac in a
low-income neighborhood, kids up to now
good, but that’s just the world we live in, right?
and music makes us all feel so alive.