Five poems
had had
I had had a long day
and it was only lunchtime.
I had had just two tasks
to start the morning
but they had had complications
which caused them to multiply
seemingly infinitely.
Now I was buried beneath
the weight of hundreds of jobs
and I had had quite enough of it.
I had had a good night
the night before.
I had had some weed brownie
and taken myself to the cinema
to see a stupid superhero movie
where the villain was bipolar disorder personified
and the antiheroes had had to convince him
that he was not alone.
Afterwards I had had icecream in bed
and drifted off listening
to YouTuber reactors.
Now after having the morning I had had
I wanted nothing more
than to climb into bed with my girlfriend
but she had had to go to New Plymouth
to spend time with her father
who had had some turmoil
in his life in recent months
after someone had had the nerve
to steal from him.
I looked ahead and the rest of the week
stretched before me like a minefield.
Then I looked back nostalgically
to the morning just past
when I had had only those two tasks
on my to-do list
and I had had all the confidence in the world
that they would be easily completed.
Oh what innocence I had had.
[ ]
Lola Bunny and Michael Jordan jelly wrestling in inflatable pool full of EstrogelⓇ, tearing at each other’s Tune Squad singlets, exposing hard abs and harder nipples (pierced of course). Lola pushing Michael’s head into the bottom of the pool with one hand, holding it there, grunting, ‘Yeah, eat it, you little bitch,’ while gesturing to the crowd with the other hand, provoking cheers, screams and wolf whistles. Michael slipping out of her grip momentarily, only to be immediately locked up in a triangle choke. Marvin the Martian manoeuvres around the pool, making sure to get all the angles, before beginning his 3-count. Michael struggles but can’t escape and the crowd erupts as the match is called. Lola standing and stepping delicately out of the pool, holding her left arm straight down with her palm facing the floor in the too-small gesture, stripping off her sodden uniform to GOAT chants from the audience. Michael remaining slumped in the pool after she has left the arena, tears sliding down his gel-smeared face, the fans pointing and laughing as they file out of the stadium seating. Porky Pig pokes his head out from off-stage to lisp, ‘That’s all, folks!’
[ ]
Nigel Thornberry absolutely going to town on his choady hog, while watching footage of bumphead parrotfish feeding, truly testing the suspension on the ComVee with the way he sets it to rocking on the banks of the Congo River, while outside in the long grass, under the burning yellow sun, Donnie and Debbie get to third base, wet and sloppy, completely unaware of the leopard slowly closing in on them, inching forward, teeth bared, mouth watering at the scent of their youthful pheromones, eyeing their juicy genitals hungrily.
Sifting
After Margaret Atwood
The fist fits
like a hand
in a glove.
A large hand.
A tight glove.
Bimbofication
Some people are so smart.
Me? I just seem smart.
I’m smart passing,
passing right by smart
on the way to bimbodom.
Not dom as in dominant.
No, I’m very much a sub.
I wear my keys on the right.
Praise kink like a crumpled book blurb.
‘Always Becominging is a good girl.
She follows instructions
as long as they are clear
and well communicated
and written at a twelve-year-old reading level.
She’s creative
but kinda dumb.’
A glowing endorsement.
Always Becominging is a gock-swinging, piss-drinking, transexual pervert. Her book I Am a Human Being (Compound Press, 2020) won the Jessie Mackay Prize for a Best First Book of Poetry at the 2021 Ockham New Zealand Book Awards.