Kelly Fordon

Kelly Fordon

WHO AM I?

I have eaten all your almonds

because you left them

on the counter. A better person

would not have done it.

A slightly better person

would have done it,

but left a note.

You would have eaten

mine though you say

you would not rob a bank.

I would only rob a bank

if I ran out of other options.

I go to church

and copy the rules out

on my hand.

When I break one,

I get absolution

from the priest.

When I say penance,

I feel better right away.

I shouldn’t have yelled

at that woman, but she

is a bitch. I shouldn’t have

slapped her, but she deserved it.

I am going to pray

until I am no longer angry,

and if I am still angry,

I will take it out on the maid,

who is stupid,

who should have learned

to speak English,

and then she would not

have had to be a maid.

I should not buy

(insert word here)

But I never buy myself

anything really.

I have not bought anything

since last year when I

purchased the Mac.

I needed that for

my foundation.

It’s a non-profit

dedicated to helping

people with problems.

There are so many.

—from Rattle #57, Fall 2017
Tribute to Rust Belt Poets

[download audio]

__________

Kelly Fordon: “Even though I spent a lot of time in the Midwest as a child, I was not truly a resident of the Rust Belt until I moved to Michigan in the ’90s with my husband and settled in the suburbs of Detroit. At that time, I was shocked by the divisiveness between the city and suburbs. I remain in shock. This poem reflects some of what I have witnessed in terms of privileged sensibility and racism in the suburbs.” (website)

Kelly Fordon

TELL ME WHEN IT STARTS TO HURT

The husband and wife rented one of those
videos. The wife was up for it, never having
seen one. At the time, she believed that
a person should try everything once.
The film opened with one of the principals
gagging on a monster knob, and then,
repeatedly jamming it back into her mouth.
Afterwards, she knelt for the benediction.
Abduction was a major part of the story line:
a woman shunted into a white van and drugged.
In the next scene, the perpetrator pounced
and the woman’s knockers rocketed around
like people trapped and frantic, scrambling
for the exit. At one point, the star’s eyes
rolled back in her head and her pink lids
fluttered wildly. The wife was reminded
of a naked mole rat documentary she’d seen
the week before where she’d learned that
a naked mole rat’s skin has no pain receptors.
Even if doused with acid, a naked mole rat
won’t feel it. Also its lips are sealed
to prevent dirt from filling his mouth.
This could be a useful adaptation
for larger mammals, she decided.
In church, two days later, the choir sang,
“How beautiful is the body of Christ.”
The wife fought the urge to flee.
Her son grew bored and grabbed her finger.
“Tell me when it starts to hurt,” he whispered.
He pinched and she shook her head.
He pinched harder. Her finger grew red.
“How is this game fun?” she hissed.
The song felt like it would never end.

—from Rattle #40, Summer 2013

[download audio]

__________

Kelly Fordon: “Writing poetry is magical when it’s going well—like speaking Parseltongue and then having no idea how you managed it. But, on days when it isn’t going well, I still write poems, because I am trying to make sense of the world around me. After watching a porn video last year, I wrote this poem. I needed to laugh a little bit at the absurdity of it, so that the sadness and rage would not overwhelm me.” (www.kellyfordon.com)

Rattle: Poetry

… without pretension since 1995.

November 20, 2017

December 19, 2013