I mean brain. When I say brain I mean the meat
that thinks, but then my hands say “wait!
What about us? WE contribute to that!”
and I tell them thanks, and to give themselves
a round of applause. Then my feet
chime in to ask about their part,
and then my heart, who ought to be in charge
of everything; and of course my gut,
the General of this army of one,
who has fought for every cause
and lost, but carried on heroically.
The genitals sit stoically still
as they are a one-eyed dictator in exile.
*
A form of self-portrait, or self-caricature: anatomy as armature for the poem, the warp woofed with over-the-top, self-deprecating irony. A loose, skittery sonnet; a cartoon in words.
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