Go She Hi Gra O E (Pffffft)

Go She Hi Gra O E (Pffffft)
by Shawn Misener
We are not safe
We are the product of
salad shooters and
fried twinkies
We build foam walls
to keep the ethnics
We cringe vigilantly
at the turban-wearing
We are the sum total
of our bad credit
our sexual partners
and our drink tabs
We love our children
though we don’t understand them
at all
We revere our ancestors
but where they came from
is a blast to decide
We are the belly button
the buttock crease
and the shiny camel toe
We are channel 16
where local access
airs our cheap shadows
We are bombs bursting in air
and the rockets red glare
We are the flag
still there
in the corner of the garage
under the broken circular saw

0 thoughts on “Go She Hi Gra O E (Pffffft)

  1. Truth is a power, but this can only be seen in rare instances…i think this is one of those instances. Immediately i was drawn to onomatopoeia title [‘ba-ba-booey!]. Super-fluous 21st century Americana. Poetry that escapes being in and for itself Rumi{nating the nature of man instead of the nature of spring flowers’ petals floating like a haunted child in lederhosen yodeling from the Alps: “Wilderness makes me giddy, join Audobon, let’s draw a landscape with an ABAB rhyme scheme.”
    That last part about the flag in the corner not only describes ‘where’, but to me, leaves the impression of a flag folded into a triangle (with 3 corners), meaning death…of a soldier, of an idea, of hope, dreams, America itself? I think all these things, especially after mention of that great American icon of rugged individualism and work ethic, the circular saw, which is broken. Shawn Misener, the love child of Oswald Spengler and Camille Paglia? or Neruda and Evita Peron?
    As always, i appreciate the acumen of detail which is succinct and splendid in vernacular connotations, thus with a flagrant relevancy to the here and now. Best thing i’ve read in a long while, especially better than that stupid starbucks poem some idiot wrote! Damn them to hell, dammit! (just kiddin’).
    Jack White: ‘White Americans, what? Got nothing better to do? Why don’t you kick yourself out, you’re an immigrant too!’

  2. You flatter me, Quasi. I’m glad you like it. This is one of my favorites, maybe the most consistent thing I’ve written since Zoe was born in July. So I appreciate the comment. Once again, you shed more light on the poem than I can take credit for. Writing is a spontaneous process for me, and sometimes it amazes me to see what comes out that was unintended. What’s your ethnicity? I’m Cheropole-Germland.

  3. I’m full-blooded Scots-Irish/German/Welsh/French/Cherokee. Although further research indicates Martian ambassador to Atilla the Hun. Cool title, i retract my onomotopoeia on the 3rd floor school book depository theory. Later, i have inmates to rehabilitate…

  4. I like the title better knowing what it means. I am also sad that I know now because I’m not wondering anymore. Go back to before so I can keep trying to make sense out of it manually.
    I am the feral by-product of both accidental and indiscriminate breeding.

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