LOVEBUG

I've had many bugs over
my life, but none so lovely
as this. He's green with
little horns and breath that
smells like vegetables.
I keep him locked in a glass
cube, and I look at him, and
he looks at me, and I say
how are you sleeping? and
he blinks twice. I say, do you
love me very much? and he
blinks thrice. I feed him
cloth and bits of metal,
and sometimes I hold him
in my hand, stroking
his horns and whispering
the tale of Lyndon B. Johnson.
Sometimes I care too much,
I think, and other times
I don't care at all. My mother
says it's all right to cry.
And I think, for what it's
worth, Albert Einstein
did it, too.

__

THE PIZZA GUY

The pizza guy was real.
He had wavy black hair
and a nose ring he couldn't
help but play with.
I wanted to introduce him
to my gynecologist. I said,
do you want to meet
my gynecologist? Sure,
he said, why not. So
I brought over
my gynecologist.
She was wearing
a green poncho and
earrings like little
golden teardrops.
I wanted to cry,
seeing those earrings.
The pizza guy was late,
of course, so we sat
in silence for a while.
I like your fish, she said,
pointing at my tank.
Actually, I said, it's
an eel. It poked its head
out and waved it back
and forth. The pizza guy
showed up smelling like
greasy uncooked meat.
All my life, he said,
I've wanted to meet
a gynecologist. Really,
she said, all my life
I've been searching
for a pizza guy. I knew I had
done something beautiful
but maybe cruel. I could
see how they looked
at each other, like
balloon animals.
I made that, I thought,
looking at their hands,
reaching for each other.
I am good.

__

I wrote these poems while in Iowa, having just been diagnosed with OCD—humor was (and still is) a great way to live with intrusive thoughts. If you liked these poems, I'd recommend telling a really good joke to your grandma, even if your grandma is no longer there.