You can smell the great
acid rock problem from here:
smoke and shit, yes, and first-
stall action, but algo más:
all reason stinks of heaven.
God’s a stalled builder of good
roads, a worker, but he’s got
this boss with a bullshit
addiction and you and me
don’t got the balls for a thing.
In the first stall, Natalie smells of sex.
The walls, scratched with wit
and moron advertisements,
are still here and I’ve still got
one bad intention. So let me
be loved. Got 3 grams of weed,
but I’m not God. We’re both man
hoes on a brewer-drunk day.
That’s why the weedy roads
here aren’t paved and why we say
acid rock’s a real good think.
In the first stall, Natalie stinks of sex.
But God let her stink, and Kenny
Rogers holds off for the big, black
burp of acid-rock real. I love nothing
but these here drunks, the shithouse
Picassos work so hard at heaven.
Source: Graffiti on a bathroom stall at Université Sainte-Anne, Church Point, Nova Scotia.
is a Nova Scotian writer whose interests include literary translation, found poetry, and the 19th century French prose poem. Her work is forthcoming in Prairie Fire magazine, and she was the 2010 recipient of the Nova Scotia Lieutenant Governor’s Award for Artistic Achievement. She lives in Fredericton, New Brunswick.