In Boiling Oil
for D.B.A.

Dee is back
what a face
what unhappy looks
how unhappy looking

how dangerous those toe nails are
to have them added, cemented on

to live like that and like we live
in conflict

to think like that and like we think
at war

to believe like that and like we believe
like opposing religions certainly
is like attempt to serve two masters

like going east or attempting to
as well as the way we're going

who should I blame
who should I fuck up
or spank up for this mishap

for what has befallen her
fuck

instead of natural
all this time abroad,
adorned a ridiculous wig

and with it, nails on fingers, on toes
extensions, colorfully painted

she, too stubborn in some things
in some ways
to be told to turn this way
that way or away
from thinking, feelings
entrenched, engrained

now this artificial nail
along with her own nail, lifted
fuck

and she needs a surgeon
too far away, not near enough

I helpless to do
what needs doing
or to pay what needs to be paid
to translate, to substitute
a frowning face for a smiling one

come home and we cannot be
happy to see each other
what a way, what a waste, what a day

on my own, I groan aloud in public
as if the knife
were under my skin also

what happens to her, happens to me
what has happened to her
has happened to me

I have a podiatrist friend
did not think of it then, I think of it now

could arrange for her to see him
how soon though
before she makes a shift
away from what is unwise
away from alien choices

what would inevitably
land her in such predicaments
in such hot fire
in stinging pain

I unable to help
but be pitched in
or to pitch in also

love connecting us
like Christ to us
like Christ and we together

who, if we who love him
if we whom he loves
were boiling in oil
he'd boil right along with us

I am boiling,
seething with anger
without knowing
who exactly to aim it at


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:46 p.m. 05.07.10