FOUR POEMS BY JENNIFER L. KNOX
Footnoose and Fancy Free
We spent most of the afternoon in the shallow end
floating around drunk. We grabbed people, lit off
fireworks and pointed them at the people we’d grabbed.
We riffled through drawers, broke a strand of pearls,
put on the most expensive clothes in the closet and they
fit great. We ate some pills in the medicine cabinet,
flushed the rest, and crushed all the potato chips
with a phone book. Somebody barfed but nobody cared.
We broke the riding mower. Actually we broke
the record on breaking a riding mower. The people came
home and were like, “Nice job! Here’s some money,”
so we accidentally beat them to death, looking each other
in the eye until we couldn't anymore. Then we sang a song
about a heavy load and danced away on down the road.
All Night All Right
After Rock ‘N’ Roll High School
Though we’re both wearing braces, I’m still way
too dorky to date you but, dude, I gotta go for it—
make up a new kind of story like Barbies talking
each other into it, “Oh Ken, doing the dishes all day
made me sleepy. Let’s go take a nap in the camper."
So lock the door and I’ll whip us up a waterslide
of glittery, super-tight, pink yumminess with rhinestones
spelling your name out on the pockets, a diamond dust
rainbow unfurling where ever you happily birthday slip
your shaky hand, a bucking dolphin all baby-oiled up,
kissing back hard, snorking aqua pompoms in the muff…
but then you pull away as you’re hot for a prom queen
unfettered by a mouth full of metal. Just give it up.
Let me do what I want—bite your chapped lips—suck
your tongue out—plant a Frenchy your gag reflex—and sing,
“My love has set the slick of suntan lotion in the pool on fire,
so the way the computer in Ms. Reamer’s class asks three times,
‘Delete?’ I ask, ‘Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me?
Are you sure you don’t want to
fuck me? Are you sure you
don’t want to fuck me?’”
Next
My friend said OK so instead ask
yourself what you want next
year not right now well what
I want for then’s a narrow well-
worn path down to the water only
I know it's there it’s hidden in
the high grass and I go down to
watch otters in the water before me
behind me at my back people
I’ll love then and love now I still
love I understand better with more
compassion maybe they don’t
know where I am or what they’d say
if they did but I don’t see them
because they are behind me but still
I love them actually love them I
have a name for each otter they have
a name for me and this thing I've been
thinking lately how life goes on
too long by then I hardly ever
think any more.
The Ideal Reader for Jennifer L. Knox (A Fellow American Down on His Luck)
Our research shows the ideal reader for Jennifer L. Knox is a man, dressed like a woman, is
over 40 but wider than a mile, 9 feet tall, all that, is a Camaro owner, parakeet aficionado,
Michelob drinker, half-Canadian, half-sausage, half-cowboy hat, is bad at math and bad in bed
but is very, very horny, is covered with crumbs, is both unwilling and unable to perform the
functions on this card, watches at least 22 hours of TV a day, would “fuck your mother under a
picture of you,” happily answers all telephone surveys, and reads poetry only if he’s going to be
tested on this shit. Other favorite books of this ideal reader include Dennis Hopper in Blue Velvet,
and the one Bugs Bunny cartoon where he helps the little penguin go home.
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Jennifer L. Knox was born and raised in Lancaster, California, where
absolutely anything can be made into a bong. Her work is featured in Best American Poetry 2006,
and her book of poems, A Gringo Like Me, is available from Softskull Press.
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