January 2005 / Volume VI / Issue I
Linda Wandt

Hoping Iíll never beg you to kill me

Iíd broken my self-promised
code of not drinking on week days
unable to refuse
25 cent drafts a place
just down the street.
We go to the bar to discover an
American Idol Karaoke competition
and he canít resist
when he discovered My Way
Sid Vicious style on the playlist,
and Iím a little jealous
but I only play that game
when Iím feeling mean
and want to harass & violate the crowd
w/ an ear splitting rendition of
Me and Bobby McGee.
(Though I have a secret fantasy of
kicking and screaming Search and Destroy
Kathleen Henna style, & rubbing the
mic on my crotch
when I forget any words.)

He wants to get into character,
make it a full experience,
tears his shirt off,
shoots some whiskey
shouts ďfuck you!Ē at everyone
in a grating fake cockney
kicks a chair over on his way on stage

I can tell
this is the most fun heís had
in months,
and heís sorta gorgeous harassing the crowd,
screaming in peopleís faces,
forgetting the words,
accidentally turning off the mic
jumping around and punching the air
swaggering those sleek hips like an
endangered species,
successful, when they finally
kick him off stage,
for a misunderstood gesture
w/ one of the judges,
an honestly outraged
ďHey thatís my Mother!Ē

I comment on how
I was tempted by the sheer fun
of public debauchery, but it was his show,
and he says I should have joined in,
I could have been his Nancy,
spit beer at the crowd, and
shook my ass at the girls,
& it would have been great,
look at how those two
wound up.