Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Poem: Sneaking Around in the Multiplex (its international debut)

See below.
A lie. I was going to introduce this poem by telling you a lie, the falsity being: This poem is insecure. LIE!  It's not the poem that's insecure, it is I, Sarah Sarai. I'm insecure about this poem. 

Now I understand what my mother felt when she asked my sisters if I was intelligent. I was 25.  My sisters said I was, and also the most intellectual of the four of us.  True, not true, utterly moot, lo these thirty-eight years of derelict living later. I'm an oddity, I admit it, and so is "Sneaking Around in the Multiplex" within the scope of my work. And it's fun. And so am I. Dearest Ma, up there in your symbolic afterlife. Love ya!

Sneaking Around in the Multiplex

She wanted to have a baby.
I'm with stupid.
Say you love me.
Promise you don't tell my mother.
The farmer raised me ten dollars.
I was startled by her many breasts.
The national anthem is not an easy song.
If you were Johnny Cash I'd be Juneteenth.
Never edit dharma.
Never f- your career coach.
No such thing as aiming too Fa Fa.
Kiss me, woman.
I was glad she didn't wear a bunker.
Money is the love of all evil.
Roots lead nowhere, really.
Teens tipped the stockbroker.
If you go to heaven bring a nice bottle of wine.
Many men love their wives.
It's good to connect with old friends.
My brain is not working today.
I'm afraid I'll never write again.
Fear is the sand in the clam.
Irritation is death or beauty.
Most days I'd rather not feel.
Angels talk to you at bus stops.
God brought me a Diet Coke.
I asked Her for a few more ice cubes.

***That photo can be found at

No comments:

Post a Comment