No Ass Handy
by Marc Phillips, 3.49am March 10th 2022
It’s best to achieve a thing on a day when you doubt the validity of it
if you can still work up the wherewithal
so you can turn to an ass and,
See? It had its own volition. I’m just an instrument. I hate you.
Many days you’ll find no ass handy
You’ll have to simply think this to yourself
You could locate someone fond of saying “irregardless” and unleash on her
but to less avail.
Hence, on validity:
1. It’s secretly apparent nothing is more elusive,
as it is secretly obvious that
2. validity is always retroacted, often posthumously,
3. Wife Number One’s I’m outta here would
presume to supersede my Go then, but both are valid.
(Stay with me on this. Everything’s relevant.)
In evidence, therefore:
She did go then, off with a drug addict somewhat better than me at billiards
leaving behind two Pekingese I renamed Self-doubt and Dismay
She returned to our house for a weekend
when her little nephew visited so we could serve him a delicate ruse du jour
with a nice faux glee sauce
and let his trashy parents burst that bubble
Since she was present and randy
we slept together
and I doubted the validity of it–
though my instrument expressed volition.
Number One had picked up some errant notions of sacktalk
Quietly, Nephew’s bubble is downstairs, Use your hand
sort of thing and
Not there! Like this
Honesty is invalid when it’s counterproductive and barely audible
Did Crackhead Billiard Boy show her some massé combo off two rails in the corner and
Do I need to be here for this?
Her version of our dysfunction was me
Well, stay a while and let’s figure it out?
Besides, You can’t return our carnal knowledge for a partial refund
It’ll spawn bitterness
Like taking a used condom back to Walgreens, receipt or no.
Irregardless, she said
when the little relative goes, she goes
and that dialed me into the smell of Billiard Boy on her
Burned rock and Old Spice
She bathed more when she lived here
Bubble Nephew flew away flew away home, faith undisturbed
She went wherever Wives Number One go then and hid from me often
though not very well, even for a big girl.
I saw Billiard Boy’s ass twice or three times around town thereafter and should’ve asked
did he ever smell anything strange on Number One
I should’ve put some See?...I hate you. on him, but
I hadn’t refined all this yet and couldn’t know
how verily vindictiveness compliments it, really offsetting the earthy tones of volition
and validity. Now I don’t know where his ass is.