OUTFEST FOR DUNDEE PRIDE AND SHAPER/CAPER
16 - TEACH ME HOW
Your dad teaches you
How to pack a rucksack,
How to pick a book,
How to shine your shoes.
It takes a bit longer than you'd think,
These sorely needed lessons,
But he arrives, and takes up teaching
Soon enough.
Scuffs on the toes: Jeez, kid. It's right through the hide.
But he can fix it- shows you the tools,
The right sort of wax to buy.
Your dad teaches you
How to read the beauty in broken things
These scrapes he helped to mend, that you think of
Every time you fix something.
Mend and mend and mend. look at the seams, the edges that don't quite meet up:
Not quite perfect anymore,
But at least true.
Your dad teaches you
How to change a car headlight, don't forget to swear.
How to Ride a bike again. You find the memory that you had buried,
Of how to do this, how to learn from someone like him
Still has oil in the gears, still will tick away happily,
Even if you crash into the curb and fall off immediately after.
And now, whenever someone mentions a bike-
Oh, my dad's a cyclist! The high-speed-lean-forward-spandex-wearing-road-biking kind, always swerving past disaster.
Make your coffee
Just the same, per his instructions, fuck the packet.
Prefill everything with boiling water
Let the kettle cool, let the metal heat.
A heaped scoop-full -here's one for your flat, kid- don't forget
That little swish
So the grinds can bloom.
Hold his Swiss Army Knife,
Look at his tan leather shoes.
Hear they've been everywhere, All over America,
And decide you will get some which are yours.
Learn how to put on a record.
Learn how and when to interrupt.
Learn to take no shit, do no harm,
Still be learning how and when to shut up.
Preen, a little,
And think of him, a lot,
Whenever someone exclaims,
Look at the shine on those!
Look at the shine on those.
Yeah!
My dad taught me
How to pack a rucksack
How to pick a book
How to shine my shoes.
11 - COLLAGE
MAKE ME APART FROM EVERYONE ELSE:
THERE IS NO LINE, BUT WE ARE NOT THE SAME.
LOOK AT THE PIECES OF MY BODY.
SEE HOW THE EDGES DON'T QUITE MATCH UP,
BUT I'VE GLUED THEM DOWN ANYWAY.
"THIS LOOKS STUPID."
HENRI MATISSE LOST HIS BODY AND HIS EYES, AND EVEN THEN, HE COULDN'T STOP.
"IT'S NOT STUPID. IT'S SURVIVAL. HE FOUND A WAY."
MAKE THE BODIES BESIDE ME.
WE ARE IN BED AS THE WORLD DIES,
LIKE THE LOVERS OF VALDARO.
WE ARE IN THE CAR AS THE WORLD DIES,
BUT I STILL WON'T GIVE UP MAKING.
CUT AND PASTE, THIS AND THAT,
PARTS AND PIECES,
HE AND HER.
MATISSE MADE COLLAGE TO SURVIVE,
AND MY BODY SHINES WITH DRIED PVA GLUE.
MY BODY SHINES,
MISMATCHED PAPERCRAFT CONTOURS.
IT SHINES,
SORENESS IN THE SEAMS, RAW AROUND THE EDGES.
IT SHINES,
IMPERFECT, BUT TRUE.