Fear Day

Fear Day
- Martha Rhodes

His almost mother
And his (this) father
Ensnarled think,

Fear. Fear on this fabulous day!
Fear is what they want this day to be about.
Yes, Fear's on their written plan

For this day out, circling
Their picnic, grabbing the son
(And son's friend) by the afternoon

To dump them headfirst into the red Mazda trunk.
Just for a minute dearies, (the almost mother says),
We'll let you out soon.

Glorious day for Fear, the two adults neck,
Thinking about having another kid or two or three--
Little barbed bald kids--

To take on Sundays to the park!
After all, your son isn't mine, she says.
And her breasts extend toward him

Like two he doesn't know whats
But they're friendly and bobbing in his face
And he's going to do something with them.

He just doesn't know how/when.

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I love this poem so much. I've been thinking about it since I first read it in 2003, although I always thought Carol Muske-Dukes wrote it. Turns out they were in the same issue of APR, which I found I had saved all these years.
The way this poem lays out, I am disturbed in an honest way. I feel a reality underlying this. This is one of those poems that changed the way I see poetry.

My Killer

My killer has tomatoes in her pocket
She's gliding with the jelly in her shoe
And when she gets to market she'll unlock it
And the odor will imbibe a bit of you

Come tell me there's a hole without your face skin
Plastering itself upon the view
Or portals both unbound and unforgiven
From which kettle's black and boundless waters spew

My killer has a cold and heaving blanket
She rescued it from sometime broad and blue
And when she gets to bed she's gonna yank it
And the corner with the stain will come untrue

My Side

Call my side revenue that glory betrays
when word has ten uses
but goes for the blade

When babble is taken for gospel, and dross
is the lightening label
that torches the cause

Cool sayer a pale invocation to dine
with right as a needle
the armed would decline

Call out my side's neighbor for tangles of leaves
when dog has a fight
but just dangles the keys

Then back again round with the story of cash
in large unmarked bags
in the old nabob's trash

Who whistles past graveyards and keeps to the porn
with pictures of whiz kids
and mazes of corn

Just keep us hard lucked and shout out when to blow
and we'll kiss you and kiss you
and we won't make you go