lies damn lies statistics

	Squin(t): A Love Poem    by Morris Stegosaurus    author info (Inspired loosely by the work of Richard Foreman) “Attention, please. Attention, please: all readers must now be informed that the poem ‘Squin(t)’ is not in fact the poem ‘Squin(t)’, but is in truth a much more disturbing and possibly illegal poem called ‘A Duck Knows Potatoland Is Evil’.” She’s sitting at a small table composing a letter to the Vatican using Scrabble tiles and string. So far she’s got, “Dear Pope John (-)aul the Second, u zany, (-)any fellow”, and already she’s had to use the J, the Z, both Ps, both Ys, both blanks and all but one each of the Fs, Hs, Ls and Ws and she had to write “you” as the letter “u” instead of y-o-u, so I can tell she’s going to have trouble later on. “Oh Rhoda,” I say, “How can I be a great painter like you?” and I expect her to answer, “Practice. With paint!” but she just keeps on squinting at her infernal tiles, so I say: “Oh Rhoda, can’t you see that I love you? Oh let me wrap you up in a big woolen blanket like the kind our grandmothers used to knit, Rhoda. Oh Rhoda, let me adorn you with shiny ornaments and tinsel and put small presents around your ankles. Oh Rhoda, let me wash your feet. Let me scrub your feet in pumice and lava, Rhoda. Oh Rhoda, let me wrap your feet in wax paper and put them in a display case next to my fresh corn beef hash. Oh Rhoda, let me wrap up your whole beautiful body in a pre-heated receiving blanket like the kind the obstetricians have, Rhoda. Oh Rhoda, let me be your obstetrician: let me be your big, beautiful obstetrician, Rhoda. Let me wrap you up in a pre-heated receiving blanket and put you down in a nice, big crib with a fancy mobile dangling overhead. Let me take you out of those wet clothes and put you in a nice, soft, fluffy diaper, Rhoda. Oh Rhoda, let me be your diaper. Let me be your soft, fluffy diaper, Rhoda. Oh Rhoda, let me put you in a pre-heated convection oven. Let me pre-heat this convection oven, right over here, to exactly 425 degrees Fahrenheit and put you in it with a red delicious in your mouth and a fresh rhubarb stuffing crammed up your vent—Oh Rhoda, let me baste you with my urine every fifteen minutes until you turn a nice golden brown, yes! All these things I do because I love you, Rhoda—all these things I do, I do for love.” She pries open her lips with a crowbar and says, “You’re a big beautiful lesbian, you big beautiful lesbian, you.” “Oh Rhoda,” I say, not missing a beat, “Let me be your lesbian—let me be your big, beautiful lesbian, Rhoda—let me be your amazon princess—let me be your pirate! Oh, I am your pirate, Rhoda: I am your butt pirate and you are my booty—I am your butt monkey and you are my tree. Oh, let me be your butt floss, Rhoda: let me wedge myself between your butt cheeks and go into orbit around yer-anus. Oh Rhoda, let me be your ass-tronemer, your rectal thermometer—let me be your speculum: your speculo, speculas, speculat, speculorum, Rhoda. Oh Rhoda, let me be your Crash Bandicoot-er, your Winnie the Pooh-ntang, your Peek-a-boo Pikachu Pokemon, Rhoda! Oh Rhoda, let me be your Milarepa, your Siddhartha, your Shivananda, your Baba Yaga, your Shambu Bharti Baba and your Dehorahava Baba, Rhoda—also your aloo paratha, your chicken tikka masala and your peshwari kulcha. Oh Rhoda, let me be your sommelier: let me help you select a wine from our vast, extensive wine list: let me recommend a Chilean Cabernet to accompany the venison or an Alsatian Pinot Grigio to accompany the moules frites! Oh Rhoda, let me be your April-Fresh fabric softener-let me be your shampoo plus revitalizing conditioner plus finishing rinse all in one, Rhoda-Oh Rhoda, let me be your baking soda plus peroxide toothpaste that four out of five oral hygienists recommend! Oh Rhoda, let me dip my nuggets in your special sauce-let me pop impossible popcorn in your anal cavity and make a salad in your splendiferous vagina! Oh Rhoda, I would eschew all the typically phallic vegetables: there’d be no carrots, no celery, no asparagus, no fennel, no zucchini, no cucumbers—not even an itty-bitty gherkin or a cornichon-no not even a cornichon! And I would not make a Caesar Salad or a chef’s salad or a salad “Nicoise”, nor anything profane like a tuna salad or a chicken salad (Bacaw…) nay! Nay. If you let me make a salad in your splendiferous vagina, I will make only an egg salad. All these things I do because I love you Rhoda-all these things I do, I do for love.” She pries open her lips with a crowbar and says, “That’s all very well, but X still equals the opposite of B plus or minus the square root of B squared minus 4AC all over 2A, you big beautiful lesbian, you.” “Oh Rhoda,” I say, defeated, “you make my heart bleed all over the sidewalk and out into the street.”
	Morris Stegosaurus placed fourth in the indie competition at the 2001 National Poetry Slam and was a member of the 4th ranked team at the 2002 competition. He says that only posers place in the top 3. He's author of the chapbooks All These Things I Do, I Do for Love, The Profane Document, The Last Temptation of Cactus and the forthcoming Milos Forman Wants a Cookie and the CDs Triassic Classics and Swallow the Sky. You can check out his online journal at "http://www.livejournal.com/~mstegosaurus". All material copyright the authors, printed with permission. ^Back to Top^