:: Article

Manatee-terrorist death poem

By Ofelia Hunt.

It’s terrible to be large and alone

At the movie-theater matinee

Watching Christopher Walken make love to tiny manatees

On a Florida beach

So I disassemble the plush red movie-seats

And stack the movie-seat parts in the movie-theater

Then climb the movie-seat part-pile

To blot out the projector-light

But I tumble forward bleeding and masturbate tragically

Until I’m escorted into the cold dusk

Where five-thousand helicopters hold the atmosphere in place

With a terrible mechanized sound and a terrible wind

And terrible machine-gun fire

Which I follow until I’m outside the house

That’s supposed to be my house

With little red bricks and little empty windows

But it’s not my house and not my neighborhood

I am Georgette I am cold

I go to Wal-Mart and hide my body and abandon my body

Because bodies are useless and cold and fallible

With meat and blood

And little cellular connections

That I disassemble and cross-connect

And stack in little piles near my body-entrance

I am old I warn myself against myself I stop

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ofelia Hunt
currently lives in Portland and Seattle. Poems available online at Apocryphal Text and Dusie. Fiction chapbook titled My eventual bloodless coup on Bear Parade. Read work in progress at Elephant seals negate the tactile universe.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Sunday, May 27th, 2007.