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,

         and that

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

Like me

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.