“Thirty-Six”

Today, I turn thirty-six.
Leonard Cohen has been
dead five days.
Donald Trump is
president elect
for four.
There is a small bowl of guavas
perfuming the kitchen.
I don't know how to eat those things.
Do I swallow the seeds?
Do I chew the skin?
Do I nibble the flesh?
Do I just bite in?
Does it matter?
Is there a right way
to anything anymore?

I have spent the seconds
of the days of my years
looking inward. All I have
discovered
is a pixelation of the soul;
my spirit, in high resolution,
broken down to boxes.
I suppose I could look deeper,
but perhaps it would be better
if I step away.

The only way
I have ever eaten guava
is with my nose.
Some things are more pleasurable
with secondary senses;
even if it means
letting these things
rot in the sun.
If I shut my eyes,
an ugly guava
still smells beautiful;
pungent but pretty.
Mostly, I have a different
image in my head of the world
than this hyperly bleak reality.

Speaking of which,
I've been painting again.
Some, who have seen them,
say
they're better than ever.
And hell yes, they are.
And they ought to be.
I turn thirty-six today.

I am four years out
from the recommended age
I will begin receiving
a routine finger in my sphincter.
My father has had two surgeries
on his prostate, in his life,
so far.
Maybe I ought to start early?
But you know,
I can still piss like a race horse,
as the boys say;
signs of a healthy prostate.
I am still quite young; feel young.

Guavas are high
in an antioxidant
shown
to reduce risk of prostate cancer.
But I suppose I won't
acquire this benefit
if all I do
is scratch and sniff.
I'm going to have to bite in,
I know.
Whether I know how or not,
I know.
This week has been bad news.
Bad news.
But I've had worse.
And if you think about it,
you probably have too.

Like most of my poems,
I should have stopped
at the end of the first
stanza.
But I've never learned
how to stop;
leave well enough
alone. All I know
is how to go
on and on,
like this.
Like this.
Click the like button
and tell me Happy Birthday
because
today, I turn thirty-six.

narrative poem written on 11-12-2016 by: on mattkane.com
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