THE POEM SPEAKS: Ahem!  Excuse me, Brother A. Hey, Aberjhani, dawg, might I have a word with you please?

 
ABERJHANI: What? Did you…did you just speak?

POEM: I can’t tell you how insulting that is, you know?  That’s like me freaking out because you pick up a pen when a certain muse walks through the door and you remember how to write. Geez!

ABERJHANI: No, me picking up a pen and writing is a normal occurrence in the context of human activities.  But a poem talking back to its creator? I don’t think so.

POEM: Woa! My creator?  What’s up with that God complex chief? 

ABERJHANI: Oh my goodn—

POEM: Never mind, this is kind’a what I wanted to talk to you about anyway.  You didn’t ask me what kind of style I wanted to be written in or anything, you know?  You just threw me in with that “Angelic Verses” series stuff and… Well, hell, I gotta be up front here and tell you I’m not down with that. 

ABERJHANI: You’re not!? That series happens to be very popular and you don’t have to be down with it.  I’ll delete your ass line by line! You’re not “down with that!”

POEM: “Delete my ass?” Listen to how violent you’re talking to someone as sensitive as me, a poem. Baby all this war talk is stressing you out.  Come on, I want you to breathe with me, on the count of three: 1, 2—

ABERJHANI: I don’t believe this.  A poem that I wrote is offering me stress therapy.

POEM: Ok, look, all I’m saying is I’m not interested in being an academic form clone.  I want to take my lines and rhymes back to the streets, you know what I’m saying, some free verse free styling with 1960s attitude, free lovin’and puffin’ on some… What? You not feelin’ me?

ABERJHANI: I don’t know what I’m feeling. I guess you want to tell me what title you should have too!

POEM: Oh, yes, thank you for asking. How about something fresh like this: I’M MAD AS SHIT AND ALL Y’ALL WAR MONGERING MOTHERF*CKERS CAN KISS MY METAPHOR!

ABERJHANI: Hey, I don’t communicate like that!

POEM: That’s my point, this isn’t about you baby, it’s about me.

ABERJHANI: I can’t talk to you. I’m going to hit this delete button right—

POEM: Come on dawg, don’t do that!  We gotta talk if this relationship is going to go the distance. I know you’re not accustomed to in-your-face criticism but you can take it. I’m your friend, we’ll get through this together.

ABERJHANI: I must have gotten drunk last night.

POEM: You’d rather pretend you got drunk last night and force me to dress up in villanelles or something than just let me be myself? Baby what’s happened to you? Where’s that old Brother A avant garde fire? Where’s that—

ABERJHANI: I must have gotten more drunk than I’ve ever been in my life. I know I didn’t smoke anything.      
 

POEM: All this drama just because I have my own identity. Who forces you to conform? Nobody! It’s not like I asked you to become celibate or try to make George Bush stop opening his mouth. I’m a poem: respect me and I’ll respect you.

Aberjhani

© 8/9/2006