Two Poems / by Maxine Anderson

Misandry Poem #1

I am immense
& I am out of control
of my body & I resist
all attempts at containment
(and abatement) by well-
meaning civil engineers.

With a slight effort I could 
break down your door
and sometimes I think if
I tried really hard I could
knock out power to a mid-
sized Southern city.

I regret nothing. Not the 
cocaine or the window of the
ice cream shop or the fact
that today I wore my cop-
kicking boots so I could kick
in the face of a cop.

I do not lament what I 
consumed in my quest to 
become all-consuming.
I am not sorry for 
eviscerating you on live television
as you announced your campaign for
                 San Francisco District 8 Supervisor.

And when sometimes I pause to
remember the loneliness of your
soft belly against the vast and
desolate Pacific my thoughts
become lineated in a cloudy way,
but that is easily brushed aside,
like stray Ponderosa pines,
or highway overpasses,
or heartbreak.




for the em dash 

if we could do our Reading over again I would say 
that your breaths between lines should not be so Obvious 
and I should have been friendlier to the Bartender — 

the Window-washers perform a ritual. better person, 
I say, crawl into your Light Fixture, your metadata are 
Revelatory or not // 

Diasporic nodules appear on the body of an artist &
it is Prophecy or it is indeed the entire breathing Organism 
of Manhattan itself — 

The warmth of the needle on Vinyl 
no longer a plausible Romance // so I postulate 
the Silence alive in your Headphones with the City 
all Boot-heels that echo on Sidewalk? 

Your metadata depict Me Emily Dickinson 
hailing a cab in an outer borough and it is spring or Whatever —




Maxine Anderson is chronically underemployed in New York.