Thunder Sandwich #23 - George Anderson

Fuck All

Who reads poetry these days? he asks

Professors? Students? Dreamers?

Why would you write the stuff anyway?

You aren't even being paid for it are you?

Not exactly

What's wrong with you then?

Now I went to a tax agent today he was good-

that's what you should be

I am good, I explain to my father

I got a poem published today-

even though it was only in a student yearbook

Yeah, what's the poem called?

'Fuck all'

Beg your pardon?

It's called 'Fuck all'

It's no wonder people don't read poetry these days-

What's the poem about anyway?

Well, I suppose it's about a generation gap

between father & son-

the father keeps telling his teenage son he knows fuck all.

Years later, in his early thirties, the son returns home for a

visit after living overseas for years-

in a role reversal the son asks his father what he knows

& the dad says 'Fuck all'

You're not joking?

You got that shit published?

Where'd you get such a stupid idea anyway?

I suppose I was over sentimentalizing a possible scenario-

in which a dad, after years of non reflection, actually shows an ironic

awareness of his own weaknesses- thereby attempting to heal

decades of miscommunication…

You're not serious are you? I tell you mate, if you want to continue

living under my roof you better start looking for a real fucken job!

The Dispute

Tell me you love me

I hear her seductive voice

funnelling down

from distant corridors

as I creep along the

back streets of my youth

I tape my knuckles tightly

to extend the force &

trajectory of the blows from

my soft student hands

I hope to surprise

her ex-lover

when I confront him

at the bus stop

I intend to smash his dopey bearded face in

cut him up badly

in wild lunging swoops of pain-

he deserves it

he has followed us

every where

for the last three weeks

sometimes by bus or taxi or car-

but usually by motorcycle

He obsessively tails us

two or three metres or so distance behind us

& as we walk & cuddle & laugh

there he is again-

never really acknowledging

our presence

or saying anything

directly to us-

I pan out to

work out the psychology

of the enigmatic bloke

He disembarks from the bus

& I hit him straight with a solid flurry

of well imagined combinations

on his chin & nose & temple-

suddenly

he is down

& I am kicking,

stomping on his face

Tyson like-

I want to drive his nose/

his testicles

through his skull

I am enraged

mad

hoping to kill him

with the wrenching

twisting uncontrollable actions

of a berserk animal

The bus from downtown is late

& I'm sitting outside McLean's Family Restaurant

sinking a Mountain Dew

when it hits me

full in the face

a hard cracking substance

slicing/

a spurt of fear overcome by pain

momentarily sightless

I sense the jagged brutality

of a broken bottle

violating my torso

again & again

in the cold disfigurement

of a collapsing logic

The bus door pneumatically opens

flushing out its passengers-

he is not there

or any where in sight

I walk home with her

& we fuck hard & distant

in that cold back room

& scream like wild beasts

unhooking the clasps to our

unrestrained & glorious pleasures

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