Jan Steckel
Breaking Ohm’s Law
Sparklers in my foot.
I’m wearing a sock, but I’m not.
Scarring of the dura mater. Hard mother.
I want a pia mater, a soft mother,
one who will have pity, like the Pietà.
Something’s wrong with the wires.
Call the cable company.
Tell them I want to change channels.
I’m bored with this show.
They can put in a device
to block pain messages.
Size of a pocket watch
under my skin.
Imagine his hands running over my hip,
sliding over it. Think about
setting off airport metal detectors.
Think of an accidental MRI,
the pocket watch winging through my skin,
slamming against the magnet.
Think of post-apocalyptic Oakland
when there’s no one to change my battery
and hordes of feral children
slice me open for parts.
Think about being a cyborg.
Don’t think of a white bear.
Resistance is futile
Childless
“Our family is like a quilt
stitched together with love.”
It sounds kind of painful, like
ripping along the seams of love.
“Our family is like a chain linked
together with genital piercings of love.”
I’m not a family man. My fan mail
ranges from laudatory
to actionably defamatory.
All I want is a refrigerator
that will toss me a can of beer,
and to play Segway polo
in my free-range, organic,
locally grown neobohemian enclave
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