My Body
I.
My ribs are trusses
Preventing the collapse
Of my body
On top of my heart.
My liver is an innocent bystander
But never tells anyone
Everything I've done.
My bones are small and hard
Like little league bats.
My eyelashes are long and thin
Like the disarticulated legs
Of harmless spiders
My spleen plays hide and seek
With no one looking so it stays
Hidden forever, unearned,
Unless you happen to run into it
By mistake. Then it bleeds and bleeds.
My bladder is a bota de vino.
Tonight’s vintage literally
Tastes like piss.
My glands are actually lymph nodes.
Call them by their proper name!
Show some respect!
The weird mole on my back
Gives my immune system
Some really bad vibes.
My skin use to rash
When mom and dad
Were going through divorce.
My ribs arch a high-
Ceilinged shelter around
My lungs and my heart.
My pancreas describes
Its lived experience
As fast and moist.
If my adrenals
Were any larger
The world would need
New shadows
And a much larger cave.
The less said about my
Muscles, the better.
The more said about my mind
The more insufferable I’d be.
My dick is pure vexation.
There are versions
Of life as a eunuch
Both better and worse
Than the life of the erection.
The top half of my face
Betrays a certain impish charm
While the bottom half belies the extent
Of admittedly modest accomplishments.
My ribs are a shield
Protecting my heart
II.
The heart has four chambers:
Blood enters the first chamber
Exhausted and small and blue,
Huddling together like prisoners
In a frozen gulag at Reveille.
All it offers is a place to gather,
A place of brief rest.
Signs adorn the walls
Apologizing for the wait.
The second chamber of the heart
Receives its charges
With anxious proficiency
Lining everyone up
Like flight attendants
Just before an emergency landing,
Offering drinks and snacks
To maintain the illusion of a lost complacency.
The third chamber is just happy to be alive.
Every single cell that bursts through its door
Is welcomed as a conquering hero.
There’s couches and hammocks
And rows and rows of books
And an open bar that serves until dawn.
The fourth chamber of the heart quickly
Whips them back into shape
Because it’s time to get back to work.
Everything that follows depends on
How well they can follow simple instructions.
The heart will keep doing this until
You tell it to stop.
My ribs are a prison
Incarcerating my heart.
My heart is a bird
That fits through the bars
But stays as long as you like.
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