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2 Poems by Scott Abels

The White West Wind is good
for making jokes
about the White West Wind.
Over Trans Fat River
The Zombie Theater for Youth
prepares a Spoiled Rotten production
with a Zombie Lion.
We see the theater
for what it could become.
I was an oppressor before
I was a teenager
I was a tyrant.
Norse Myths of My Origin
A forklift driver
dropped a coin in a bottle.
The good kind
of cholesterol.
A tattoo
of Nebraska. Described
the slacks of the
snake oil salesman.
Got the skanky
details. Used meth-
od acting.
Stand up, Simon said,
touch your hemorrhoid
through your blue jeans.
A decent height,
and a whole box of pizza.
Boring, Oregon, how
the California cow
got sick. A boar
did air guitar.
A civil
sound level.
Another wallow.
Hipsters, REACT!
An avocado pit
lodged in the garbage disposal.
Now the meal you
asked for is over.
At noon, we weaved
bacon into a pitcher
and filled it with melted cheese.
Some of the surrounding poets were divorcees
wearing clothing the color of water.
The poets will have heard trees
falling for hours. A hog will say
no bikes on the sidewalk.
Back inside
a plate of original pancakes
will hit the floor.
We can have faith
trees will never, ever
explode. In the future
there won’t be jokes,
there will be numbers
and rainbow waste in the water
and an inhalation hazard
is hidden in the library
quite deep enough
to have become a byword in the land.
The poets will be listening.
They will be listening.
They will pinch off some clay
and throw it into the wilderness.
Scott Abels currently lives and teaches in Honolulu, where he edits the online poetry journal Country Music. He is the author of Rambo Goes to Idaho (BlazeVOX, 2011) and Nebraska Fantastic (Beard of Bees, 2012).