mood swing.

dedicated to Sir Alex Goochey, who refused to let me give up on finding the person these poems are about.


(I.) This is How Much I Hate You
or I Wouldn't Be Sorry If.

If my car broke down
and you came instead of Triple A,
I’d start walking
until blisters, distance, or the elements
(not pride)
stood between me and my destination.
Then, and
only then, would I
demand you fix the car.
I would not say thank you.
I would give you a check.
The memo would say“You can still go to hell”
With one finger saying goodbye, I'd aim the wheels at you,
and step on the gas.

(II.) This is How Much I Hate You

I would
have coffee with Hitler
and dinner with Yoko Ono
spend my free time doing taxes and dishes
before spending time with you
or with anyone
who’s ever rubbed their elbows with yours
and mistakenly took you for pleasant.