Manners.(three poems)(Poem) - The American Poetry Review

 Address older people as Sir or Ma'am  unless they drift slowly into your lane as you aim for the exit ramp. Don't call anyone dickhead, fuckface , or ass-hat ; these terms are reserved for ex-boyfriends or anyone you once let get past second base and later wished would be sucked into a sinkhole. Yelling obscenities at the TV is okay, as long as sports are clearly visible on the screen, but it's rude to mutter at the cleaning products in Safeway. Also rude: mentioning bodily functions. Therefore, sentiments such as 'I went balls to the wall for her' or 'I have to piss like a chick with a pelvic disorder at a kegger contest' are best left unexpressed. Don't' say 'chick,' which is demeaning to the billions of sentient creatures jammed in sheds, miserably pecking for millet. Don't talk about yourself. Ask questions of others in order to show your interest. How do you like my poem so far? Do you think I'm pretty? What would you give up to make me happy? Don't open),our raincoat to display your nakedness. Fondling a penis in public is problematic, though Botero's black sculpture of a fat man in the Time-Warner building in New York, his pee-pee rubbed gold, seems to be an exception. Please lie to me about your pedophilia and the permafrost layer. Stay in bed on bad hair days. When the pulley of your childhood unwinds the laundry line of your dysfunction, here is a list of items to shove deep in the dryer: disturbed brother's T-shirt, depressed mother's socks and tennis racket, tie worn by soused father driving the kids home from McDonald's Raw Bar. If you refuse your host's offer of alcohol, it is best to say, 'I'm so hung over, the very thought of drinking makes me feel like projectile vomiting,' or, 'No thank you, it interferes with my medications.' Hold your liquor whenever it is fearful and lonely, whenever it needs your love. Don't interrupt me when I'm battering. Divorce your cell phone in a romantic restaurant. Here is an example of a proper thank-you card: Thank you for not sharing with me the extrusions of your vague creative impulse. Thank you for not believing those lies everyone spreads about me, and for opening the door to the next terrifying moment, and thank you especially for not opening your mouth while I'm trying to digest my roast chicken.  

KIM ADDONIZIO'S most recent books are Lucifer at the Starlite and Ordinary Genius: A Guide for the Poet Within. Her website is www.kimaddonizio.com.