December 1, 2017

Dillon McCrea

SELF-PORTRAIT AS AN INKBLOT

Somehow, it always looks like
a vagina. Unless you’re Freud

then everything’s a penis, or 
maybe your mother’s vagina.

The one you came screaming out of,
a convict through a gate 

left ajar. Or maybe you were more
a baton-battered crook

dragged into the prison of
the world outside that cozy womb.

In any case, you earned your conviction
when you wrapped your

umbilical cord around the 
doctor’s throat and used your own

9 pounds, 5 ounces dangling over
his shoulder to crush his windpipe.

You weren’t all to blame though.
It was your father’s fault really. Not his

genes swimming around in you, no,
his genes would have ignored the

doctor and made a jump at the nurse,
but something in your pudgy little

bones knew that that fucker wasn’t
there, and that you’d probably never

get your tiny little hands on him. So,
when Doc Brown here drew the short

stick of being the first male you saw,
well, that sad-sack was gonna have to

taste the fleshy noose of your sweet
revenge. Your mother wasn’t frightened

though. All that morphine let her look
right past the crime scene into your

baby-blues. She kept finding new
substances to fog her vision of all

your violent tendencies for sixteen 
years. Until she got the call from the

principal that you painted your locker
crimson with school pride, but it wasn’t

spirit week and oh yeah, your paint can
was Johnny Miller’s forehead. So, now

you’re sitting in the counselor’s office 
staring at pictures of vaginas.

from Rattle #57, Summer 2017
Tribute to Rust Belt Poets

__________

Dillon McCrea: “I’ve lived in northeast Ohio since I was eleven. I went to middle school and high school in Ashland, and have lived in Akron since I started college five years ago. The biggest way living in the Rust Belt affects my work is the vibrant poetry and arts community here in Akron. Not just the arts community, but how this city comes together as a community in general. I’ve been involved in many incredible events here in Akron just in the last year from arts festivals to a peace march in support of our immigrant community. In a place that was recently described in a national publication as a ‘dying city’ of rubber and heroine, I see things that inspire me to create on a daily basis.”

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