Shrimps

(College Art and Poetry…hmmm.. this one I did for a performance art workshop at the 18th Street Artist Space with Nancy Agabian, she was awesome. She dressed up as a bloody Tampon on Halloween, while I was Barbie. Those were fun days.)

It has been a month and a half since April’s fool
Both of us undoing ourselves to reveal
Innards that would be put into soup
On top of gas stove, along with some vegetables.

It is the same recipe my mother would use,
Telling the maid to make
I am following: Place the chunk of fat white
With the pig skin still attached.
When it is ready the oil will float,
Into perfect circular yellow lily flats.

I shall ask you for dinner
Eat steamed fresh prawns
That ooze orange as we peel the shell.
Discovering that inside the rubbery stripped striped flesh,
are dark black lines of the intestine,
The grosses me out every time.

You remind me of shrimps anatomy and
The fluffy mold in my rice cooker,
Because they too keep coming back

From now on, while at the table
Please don’t turn off your pager
I won’t not answer the phone,
In that case you will know when
Your computer has crashed
And when your girlfriend is home.

I won’t be reminding you either;
As usually as you rush out
There are sheets to be ironed and
Lipstick marks that need hiding.

For I am so busy,
Sitting on a chair, head on the glass,
Wondering when the next earthquake will lash,
While the phone is ringing,
The pots are about boiling.
It is not you, it is not you.