Black Humor

If I could
separate you
from your anger
like a chef
culls the egg’s white slime 

If I could
cut out your self-destructive streak
like a surgeon bloodlessly excising a cancer
with laser point surety 

If I could
dampen the fires burning your soul
like a fire jumper falling heroically from a plane 

If I could turn back time
No, wait—
Cher has dibs on fine-tuning the ticking clock
and we have nothing in common
save the fine stock of old lovers
caught in the amber prison of memory
but I’ll be making
no perpetual come back tours
in black net stockings and bustier
astride phallic cannons

If I could
suck you back into my uterine cavity
for one highly impressive retroactive do over
I might have a chance
but reality being what it is
the best I can do
is posit hypothetical what ifs
in the void
left by your alcohol-besotted waste
of air-sucking existence

and enjoy
your 3-year-old son
who calls the president
on the phone
and mistakenly
gets Nana
who if she could pull off
the rest
might just be worthy
of the wrong number

                 --Katherine McLeod Searle
  30 January 2008
 

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