Our poem of the week is by Jeanine Deibel and comes from vol 1, issue 2 of burntdistrict. Jeanine is an MFA Candidate in Poetry at NMSU where she teaches Creative Writing and works as Managing Editor for Puerto del Sol. For more information, visit: jeaninedeibel.weebly.com.
By Jeanine Deibel
I might pretend that the ladies’ curvature is my grab-at
go-to place for kicks, like I don’t cup myself and gyrate to
“Beat It” above the sanctuary all night long, but let’s face it,
I’m self-sufficient. I mean, have you watched a baseball
game? That shit is broadcasted globally. What are we really
trying to hide? Not baseball players nuttin their mittens.
But MJ – you can’t dance while you do it. Not in public.
Then it’s a desecration of a sacred act. Every man
instinctually must move three clicks away from you. Where
are your bats, man? You need a fucking decoy, numero uno.
That’s what got MJ killed, that or diet Pepsi, I’m still up
in the air on that.