Sleeping with Josh Bell
(in imitation) by Asia Meana
I was told at the Quik-trip where we used
To sit and smoke and easy lyrics would fall right
Out of your jeans and shoot the bird at me
That you had bought a Chihuahua
And a big house with lots and lots of rooms and enough natural
Light to choke a whole Ethiopian village.
And I laughed at you, Ramona.
You see, you remind me of recycled Wal-mart bags and of sad
Wet stoops where people go when they get kicked out of their mothers’
Houses and of tea leaves getting stuck and bitterly
Melting and staining your teeth yellow to black.
I remember fishing off your grandfather’s pier and you said
It used to be so pleasant here and I thought,
So did you. But actually I didn’t think that then unless I had to.
And we had bought minnows for bait
And you strung them onto the fishhook and I remember thinking
How can she do that and getting sick at the sight
Of you with your hips drowning in those awful jeans and the minnow
Opening and closing his jaw
Which was the size, Ramona, of your pinky nail as he died.
And I said you are my alien encounter, my spare tire
And my robin-red-breast with my hands
On your shoulders and looking over the right one
So that I wouldn’t have to see the minnow dying in your eyes.
Your house is probably solar powered, Ramona
And isn’t that just like a factory who has a midlife crisis
And runs away from home to be a nurse. And will you sell
Your diamond for some brand new guts, Ramona.
You used to pull your bluish lips back off your teeth to show
Enthusiasm. You used to tell me that eventually
There will be no more music
Written because we will have used up
All the combinations of notes.
And will you please cut off your terrible
Hair and give it back to the mannequin you stole it from. Or at least
Stop letting all those parakeets streak it white with their droppings.
I hate this place, this Quik-trip with its cheap
Fountain drinks and empty bathroom stalls and stories.
A Chihuahua, Ramona, really. What a mistake
You might have made.
I hate laughing after I’ve just had a cigarette because my lungs
Feel small like convicts on a carousel.
I remember when you belched
In your yoga class and told me about it over fondue
When we used to have fondue when we used
To spin each other up like giant lusty spiders do with prey
When each of us was prey
And predator at once, and confident
In the muscle of our mandibles and I looked at your elbows
And I imagined that they were the ones who belched
For a minute, so I could eat the piece of bread I had just dipped.
But it didn’t last, the image. Ramona, you didn’t
Let me keep a thing I ever made.
ps—> look up Josh Bell so that i have given full credit where credit is due and also because he is the Man. look up, in particular, “Sleeping with Julia Roberts” and any of the Ramona poems.
