Broke-Ass Stuart is now accepting poetry submissions to be featured in the BAS Poetry: Arts & Culture column. Written & curated by Corinne Avganim.
Via X-Men: Apocalypse
Last week was weird. An IRL Soprano was appointed and dismissed as our country’s Director of Communications. The New York Subway System experienced its own mini apocalypse. And personally speaking, my trusty stars were all off the charts and majorly fucking with my flow. Not cool, moon, not cool.
Thankfully, there are words and people to make the weird beautiful again. Like Taylor Melligan, who threw down some major prose named after animals, that weren’t really about animals at all. This week, she writes of doom and love…not that the two are mutually exclusive, of course. Either way, her work is always a welcomed distraction to the day. Take a break from the shit show that is life right now, and dive into someone else’s world for a moment. It feels good in here.
APOCALYPSE
by Taylor MelliganSan Francisco, California
In the movies an asteroid hits the Earthand sends a trillion pieces careeningacross the reaches of the universeBiblical waves wipe out Los Angelesand monsters weaned on a steady dietof radioactive nuclear wastesmash Tokyo to smithereens.In the ensuing riotswindows are shatteredand radios are stolenand a burning shopping cart rolls intoan empty car that explodes.Helicopters swarmoverhead peering downat masked agitatorsthrowing molotov cocktailsinto elementary schools.Contagion makes blood runfrom people’s eyes and mouthsand the mayor rips the police chief’s throat outwith her bare teeth.In these films Mother Nature or aliensrun amoklike infected monkeys from a Pfizer labBut this is a ruse.This makes us think thatif only Bruce Willis could detonate an explosiveon the surface of the asteroid in timeand someone can point a gun in someone else’s faceto stop them from stopping him,we will all be saved from doomand the Imams will shout songs of worshipand the streets of Delhi will dance for joyand in the heartlandchildren will cling to the necks of their parentswho look up at the unthreatening skywith tears in their eyesand a prayer of thanks on their cornfed lips.
But this is all a lie.
Human fingers will just as soon reach out tothrottle another asto join hands in communion
and the only apocalypse we need to fearis the apocalypse in our own hearts.*
SHAMPOO
You’ve driven me to distraction.I was washing my hair whilethinking of youand couldn’t rememberwhetherI’d put shampoo inor not.The me of now,curated over the courseof many disappointmentsto be indifferent and unmovedand haughty as Estellais revealed to be a suitthat hides thetrueeagertrembling childI am on the inside.I’m afraid thatsooner or lateryou will expose me.You’ll find the big zipperin the back,start to pull,and before too longthe jig will be up.*
Taylor Melligan
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