The idea for this poem was sparked by a stroll through the shelves of Shattuck Hardware in Arlington, Mass.
“She couldn’t help herself”—
is that the excuse we are to accept?
An expedient outbreak from the shame that previously adhered to public spaces,
a cheater plug for the unexamined life.
Why is everyone so disposed to
dispose of those whose only sin is to practice an undisclosed potentiality?
Such a closed end sustenance,
a sweetness shared by all, sought by buds and eager hands from infancy.
You know what repels me about you?
The Andean cliffs of your diffidence,
an impedance which no spade terminals can overturn,
a bias giving a ribald turn to the butt splice of your demeanor.
I say you’re all hopeless,
the way you are.
Conditions like these are the rising edge of uniform fields,
male disconnects,
eyes that close when tapped.
Andy Oram
June 10, 2025