[Poem] Plastic Wrap
Plastic Wrap
Here, hap, a battlefield of shrink wrap neurons,
mutating microplastics that line the edges of thought
with razor wire gap
Quick to adapt
I have tried to peel them off bit by bit,
And admire these great wonders of the 20th century
through smoke and electric zaps
To find out what’s underneath,
and let me go from this trap
Are you ready to bleed in public
and die beyond the map, I ask, I ask
I spy, hazy but tight in the layers:
The smokestacks of Indiana,
Dollar-store Nazis,
Our sanctified Sisyphus, forever overcoming, oh snap
Joining hands with the women who mother as a hobby
doll—the power stat! Father such an attractive app
There, the desperate family on a boat
The not so desperate on a boat, too
They prefer the self-death,
petroleum-shimmer rainbow gift wrapped inside my skullcap, as free as the clap
And then: all around, as far as the mind can imagine (not much),
the screaming, shocking iron of the final machine, mesmerizing
—and our familiar, warm in hand now—
The sound of its forever plastic, a reassuring flap
Everyone knows who’s winning
No one knows anyone winning
A personal tragedy forwarded endless times,
sterile crap
They’ll seal you in these industrial pollutants when you’re tired of looking, no one warns us
All produced in a snap
These wraps are shiny and snug on me,
regrown like basilisk scale on a chemical peel, fearful of that other, earlier wrap:
the stifling yap of the pulpit and terrible whip snap:
The luxury-store Nazis and popes in hats.
The clap and clap back, both an infernal trap
This is my plastic birthright, this death rite, I ask, I ask?
I have heard murmurings of what might lay beneath
if I can rip these free and peel them back
if only for a moment before I pass:
A throne of pricking chords, loud quiet breath colliding
Under a melody that rhymes in placental waves
A world beyond this fevered rap
Incomprehensible to my heartbeat stuck in this Saran sandtrap
I am allowed to ask, I ask myself, I ask
Yes, I’m going to pick at it now
Watch me bleed
out sap