Matthew Guenette

Morning After The Comet Pill 

          

 End of world seeker seeks ni

mble minx for life-long love.

 

End of world game show hosts:

COME ON! Message beamed

 

to the housewife’s head:

end of world! I blame myself.

 

From speeding protons near

to light comes this soupy mass:

 

How does it taste? A little fuzzy,

like the floor of a cab. I love

 

that drab-cloth Jesus style.

I watch “Star Trek” and “X-Files”

 

religiously. Who’s ready for a nap?

The comet breeds a cocktail

 

of vodka and barbiturates.

Whoever they bite aim high,

 

save grandma, follow my lead

on Twitter. Don’t be scared,

 

call in sick. What is it? A star?

I want you to want me, I need you

 

and so on, but since the end was post

poned, you don’t look so good.

 

“I’m free to do what I want any old time 

—The Rolling Stones

          

Tell me how we got here.

Say I look good. Everyone knows

Are you okay? isn’t the real question.

“Like a Virgin” on a jukebox

 

long ago in a diner far away,

my heart feels mounted

to a chopper is anguish is too much.

How are we found?

 

How can you be in this photo

before you were born? Unwritten laws

against socks with sandals. I’m free!

To pull an all-nighter, sever

 

an ear, the heist in progress

when the moans start in the trunk.

I feel dirtier than an American

Dream. I deny everything.

 

Matthew Guenette is the author of American Busboy (U. of Akron Press, 2011) and Sudden Anthem (Dream Horse Press, 2008). He lives, works, and loses sleep in Madison, WI. bio-matt