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i want to go gray early.
i want all my lovers to,
eventually, leave me;
throwing up their hands
with giving up the ghost
of what, early on, i was –
vivacious, caring, funny,
warm. i want the terrorists
to win against us, the
brave new world to come
crashing. i want to win
the lottery or become
homeless. i want, sometimes,
to be a man. i want to
continue to throw the
curve.
having breached the closing
cusp of youth, i predict mid-
life crisis at 42; the
days get only shorter in
length — earlier at the end —
time becomes irrelevant,
timing becomes everything.
i want to wear a mask.
i want the New Yorker to
publish me. i want to have
safe sex, never mention it
to the boyfriend. i want
to, some day, vote
republican.
it takes more than knowing
better, more than keeping an open
mind, more than work;
the requisite resources are
vast and foreign. i want a drink
or a sandwich named after
me; the depth of my rumored
prowess in one thing or another.
i want sheepish to mean something
else. i want amnesia.
Iris: I just love this poem. And you, as well. It was a pleasure to work together. Onward and upward, my dear.
This makes me want to check out poetry more often. Your words are strong and fluid at the same time and take chances on every line. I’m enthralled, and sheepish in that undefined way you say it.
(Enjoyed your self-interview, too.)
I absolutely adore everything Iris writes. She has such a way with words that makes me wish my literary brain could have been born hers rather than my own. Cheers to you, Appel. You are a gem!
You have a delicious mind, and a voice to match.
“time becomes irrelevant,
timing becomes everything.”