a poem by
m. boy anderson
i don’t trust you not to show me something fucked up
i know you want me to see that video
but i’m in an unreceptive mood
at present
and i don’t trust you not to show me something
fucked up.
you have to understand
there was this
video
a few years back
some website
some dude told me
about
and it was fucked up.
it fucked me up, and it fucked up the neighbors
the kitty
the doggy
the whole town was fucked up.
it fucked up your cousin’s friend jim, and
it fucked up your friend’s momma.
she was all
fucked up.
the news came by
and put her on camera
and she said
something totally
fucked up.
broadcast live, so the news people
couldn’t bleep it.
they had to say sorry later on
and a viewer called in
to the station
and said
what they did
was completely
fucked up.
the news people could’ve bleeped that one
but didn’t
because they were
incompetent
(and fucked up)
and the lead anchorwoman
cursed a blue streak
at the boom operator
then quit.
just walked.
it was a long time in coming
depending on whom
you ask
but still.
it was really fucked up.
so
begging your pardon
i know i have this
reputation
as a guy who’ll watch anything
hobos fist-fighting
million-scoville peppers being eaten
danish nihilist drama
pets alarmed by their own flatus
the list must surely seem endless
to you
but i hesitate to click the link
you shared
because
i don’t trust you not to show me something fucked up.
it’s nothing personal
some of us just get things
stuck in our minds
forever
until the day we die
songs you wish you’d never heard sung
images that phosphor-burn into the mind
loud and sudden screaming
closeups of shit
even in explaining to you
why i cringed
at your no doubt earnest
suggestion
i have infected you
with the knowledge
of the fucked-up thing
i was shown
and i should have
just kept
my stupid mouth
shut.
because now,
you can no longer
trust me
not to show you
something
fucked
up.
that’s fucked up.
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