To Write Like a Man
I need a dick
that I can whip out
every time I want to prove
I can piss longer and farther
than manly poets do.
And I need testosterone
so I can smack words
against concrete,
pull them up by their vowels,
and disembowel them
with a broken bottle.
Don’t tell me that men
are in touch
with their feminine side,
are taking care of babies,
sharing recipes,
and arranging roses.
Just shut up and hand me
your hoppiest beer,
a shot of Jack Daniels,
a pool cue,
a pen.
History Lesson
My sister lies to her children.
When we see dozens of pig snouts
squeezing between slats of a truck bed,
she says the farmer is taking them on vacation.
When we see dozens of pig snouts
breathing their final breaths,
she says the farmer is taking them on vacation.
I picture them riding the Coney Island Cyclone
breathing their final breaths.
I don’t want to think about the truth.
I picture them riding the Coney Island Cyclone.
Pigs are smarter than dogs, you know.
I don’t want to think about the truth
squeezing between slats of a truck bed.
Pigs are smarter than dogs, you know.
My sister lies to her children.
Joan Wiese Johannes has been publishing poetry for over thirty years. Her most recent chapbook is He Thought the Periodic Table Was a Portrait of God from Finishing Line Press. Visit her online here.
Portage Magazine 
