CONTAINMENT MISSION

The first poem in WHAT IS WHO

On the first week, God created stuff.

The second week, she created storage—

Units, cardboard boxes, control-

Temperature rooms to store the stuff.

I enter a room & refuse to hug

Everyone at once—no group hug

Nor no quick procession. I would rather

Spread the joy throughout the coming

Minutes, a couple raindrops quenching

The dirt’s gasping each moment at a time.

The slow pitter-patter of calm refreshment & knowing

Tomorrow is gonna be a day also.

Despite the best of efforts, the Liberty Bell nurtured

A crack in its own home, & despite the best

Scolding, I still became a butthead, messy.

A minor liar, an atheist. The brain

Closes during certain parts, but the mouth runs

Wide open, a dangerous concoction like

Whiskey inside chocolate, a beehive hung

At eye level to the dog, my mother with

An annotated version of the Bible.

One among many system errors. It is

Raining, all at once.

When someone names you the wrong name

You are stuck forever

Called the same as some

Spewing dictator or a part

Of the body many

Of us cannot locate, the sticker stuck to your chest.

When someone calls you the

Wrong name, you have one option—learn to be the best Kyle

Or Diane you can be.

This poem is from the chapbook, WHAT IS WHO, available here as a free PDF.