This Poem and Joan Crawford

This Poet is banging her head against a wall,
Trying to write This Poem.
She knows the wall isn’t trying to write
This Poem. Don’t be rude.
Though it observes This Poet’s head
In watchful silence not writing this poem.
This Poet’s head is watchful in its silence.
Don’t think the wall doesn’t notice.
In silence, This Poet stopped writing This Poem.
Which wishes This Poet picked up a six-
Pack on the way here. Pull tabs.
This Poem thinks of happy times with pull tabs.
That post-pull tab hiss. This Poem is lippy.
What is This Poem but a representation
Of every fiber of This Poet’s being?
This Poet wants to thump a frying pan against her head
As punishment for “every fiber of This Poet’s being.”
This Poem demands Joan Crawford return to Earth.
“You are vile, vile I say, you whom I hate
With every fiber of my being!”
Yeah, she nailed it. We’re in agreement on that,
This Poet, This Poem, the six-pack scored at the line break.

Sarah Sarai’s work includes That Strapless Bra in Heaven (Kelsay, forthcoming); Geographies of Soul and Taffeta (Indolent Books); The Future Is Happy (BlazeVOX); and five chapbooks. Her poems are in Ethel, Sinister Wisdom, Boston Review, Posit, Barrow Street, Ascent, and other journals and anthologies. She lives in New York City.