four poems

Aaron Winslow

Pineapple Man

I cut the soft supple flesh of the pineapple with

the sharpened steel blade of my knife.

This is not a

murder.

This is not a

crime,

Because we do not live in a world where pineapples are sentient, or

Are considered beings,

Or given even the most cursory of rights.

But there is a world—because, according to the quantum theory

Of multiple worlds, there has to

be—

Where pineapples are not only sentient but

Are in charge, are the dominant species,

And in this land I

Am a ruthless killer,

A creature to be feared for my

Savage ways, the utter

Glee with which I slay my victims.

In this world, pineapple society

Wants nothing more than to catch

Me, to imprison me, to put me in

The electric chair or whatever the pineapple

Equivalent of that grisly punishment might be,

To give the families of my victims

Some shred of resolution or retribution, however

Slight. And as they gather to watch

As I am put to death for my many,

Many pineapple murders,

They will hear my final words, bemoaning

The fact that I live in a world where

My simple desire to consume the sweet

Flesh of ripe fruit

Makes me a monster.

Artie my son cries from the next

Room. He is not

A pineapple,

But he is a newborn and is roughly the same

Size and, when swaddled,

Shape.

Fear of Shitting

I lived in New York

City for ten years and

every damn day of my life I

Was afraid that I’d pissed

And shat my pants on

the subway, that it was just

A matter of time until

someone took a whiff and

The whole car would turn to me

In judgment and disgust at what

I’d done

Sure, my paranoia of

accidentally shitting was just

that: paranoia, a fantasy, a product

of OCD and anxiety; but I’ve

seen similar things happen in

reality. For example

I remember being on the

subway late one night

when my nostrils were

suddenly flooded with the

smell of fresh shit

fresh human shit

I looked up and met the eyes of

the man across from me

who said very loudly not just

to me but to everyone

“what the fuck?”. Then the

train stopped at a station

and half the car moved

to another car

away from the overpowering smell

of human shit.

I cherish these moments of connection

between strangers, that

intersection of shit smell connecting sphincter

to my nasal passages and

then my eyes connected to another man’s eyes

whose own nostrils are connected

to the other man’s sphincter and then everyone

lurching from the car in mad

succession all of us tied by an invisible

tether the nexus of which is one man’s

unclenched sphincter

this is the New York that I love

this is democracy in action.

Now I live in Los Angeles

which isn’t nearly as democratic

if I don’t want to smell human shit

I can put the windows up

and if I’m afraid I’m going to shit

I can just pull over anywhere

or shit in the car

birds i’ve known

i awoke from strange dreams

and saw a crow outside my window

bobbing on a fucking branch

aaron, the crow said, you

are a worm

you have

a little worm dick

and a little worm soul and a little

worm existence

then it flew off with what i can only imagine was self-satisfaction.

and i’d never even met this asshole bird before!

how did he know so much about me?

everywhere

I look

Birds

Everywhere

I turn my ear

Birds

The squawk

The squeak

The hideous

chirp of

Birds

In the trees

Birds

In the streets

Birds

On the power

Lines and telephone

Poles and the street

Signs and the gutter

of the neighboring house

Birds

They won’t let me sleep

They won’t let me think

They won’t let me relax

Birds

I wake up in the morning

And before I can have even

A cup of coffee I hear them

Chirping like hell cherubs

Birds

Like Satan’s angels themselves

In big disgusting flocks

Telling me things like

“You’ve been bad and you’ll

be worse, nothing you’ve

done shall ever be forgiven”

Oh these

Birds

What do you do about

Birds

I truly hate these

Birds