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DEFENDING IMPLANTS
I try to talk Rebecca out of buying tits,
of allowing men to dictate her value
and identity but, she says, it’s hard being a woman
over forty even with an education and sense
of self. Men can only be initially attracted
to what they see; conversation can’t grab
a man’s attention in crowded bars.
Sometimes you have to blind them
with your headlights and if it’s easy
as surgery and stashing stacks of cash
beneath floorboards for months, why not?
Europeans laugh about America’s obsession
with breasts, I tell her, and see it as evidence
of juvenile thinking. We’re constantly searching
to feed from the comfort of our mother’s bosom.
If you purchase boobs, I tell Rebecca,
you’ll become a cartoon. What men will want
is something not you. When men compliment
women on their dress, the women often blush
and take it personally as though they sewed
the hem, designed the pattern. If men comment
on your implants they may as well claim
to like your IPhone case or accordion.
It’s sort of like a bait and switch, she says.
I can’t sell a product if customers never
enter my store. I have to bring them in
with something hanging in the window.
But I own the store. I decide what’s for sale.
And I’m just more open, now, as to the currency
I accept. It no longer has to be love.
CLARENCE THOMAS COMES TO DINNER
He was nice enough to bring a bottle
of Château de Blah the Koch brothers gave him
during their last conservative retreat
in Palm Springs so after he complimented
my wife on her baked Parmesan asparagus
I asked about his California trip, how he could
support eliminating the Voting Rights Act
and if he agreed Obama set American race
politics back decades since he’s treated
like the abstract black friend bigots reference
when insisting they’re not racists. Now they claim:
How can I be racist? My president is black
and I pay taxes and We don't need voting laws.
Racism’s over. A black man’s in the Oval Office.
Clarence puts down his fork and dabs
the corner of his mouth with the napkin.
We've had this argument before. He sees
himself as a Supreme Court Justice
not as the black one. He says he married
a white woman because he loved her
not because of her symbolic whatever.
I want to get up from the table, walk over,
put my arms around his big head
but I’m not sure if I’ll hug or strangle him.
Instead, I tell him Dude, you can’t separate
yourself from your history. He looks dead
into my white face and repeats the exact same thing.
JESUS ISN'T LICENSED; HE CAN'T TAKE THE WHEEL
Atheists deserve a lane reserved for them on state highways.
Remove the signage signifying “High Occupancy Vehicle” and replace
with signs reading “Atheists Only.” State troopers could verify
atheist drivers by permit stickers shaped like Nietzsche’s silhouette
or by “There Is No God” specialty license plates issued
by the state. If my Jewish daughter’s public school requires
she attend on Passover and fasting Muslim students must sit
dry-mouthed in my classes during Ramadan, the least
Christians can do is wait. They have all the time in this world
and the next. I live across the street from St. John the Evangelist Church
and every Sunday I make illegal left turns, intentionally cutting
off the line of cars queuing into the church’s parking lot.
Sometimes they honk. But I’m the one who’s impatient.
Eternity closes early and, on Sunday, so does the grocery store.
OF JESUS AND BREASTS
Brad Johnson
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