Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 04/02/21


You leaned lasciviously against the door jamb
digging last night’s suet
out of a hole in your tooth with a fork.
You had bent the one tine up, specifically
to get deep down in there.

And didn’t I see you, again, just this afternoon,
sitting on the big step at Trinity,
wearing a white, crew-knit sweater?
You put the ball of your thumb over your
right nostril
and out of your left nostril
blew the largest, greenest chunk of snot
this world has ever seen.
It hit the pavement stones and quivered,
for moments,
as though it were alive –
and perhaps it was alive – perhaps it lives still,
mewling infant Abjection, born from of your nose.

What are we to do with you,
errant offspring of Comedy and Horror?
You make us retch; you make us laugh, compulsively,
while we shield our eyes,
attempting to protect ourselves
from the agony of seeing your face.

The Birth of Disgust

Her man’s face
was a closed door
that hid a monster
bent on destroying
She figured, maybe,
she’d be next.

Horror had a jaw,
full of broken sentences
and gnawing innuendo.
He had a tongue that spat out
fractured images
full of fatal intent.

And yet, Comedy dreamed
of marrying him.
Marriage would bring
everything together
in the end.
Marriage would make
all things right.

In the good times,
they had each placed
ridiculous figures
on a stage
and watched
the conflict play out
long into the night.

She wanted
to restore things
to the way they were –
she wanted to laugh,
once again, with him,
at her baser men
who fell face-first
into the mud – or at
his silly idiots
who were warned,
but stayed in the house,

Horror had always
loved a hearty laugh.
And Comedy knew
how to handle him.
And now she knew
how to deal with
the monster.

She rapped on that door
of a face and said,
“Monster, monster!
Come on out!” And the
monster behind the door said
“Not by the gunk
in my horrible snout!”

“So, I’ll huff and I’ll puff,
and I’ll blow your face
out!” replied Comedy,
and inhaled so powerfully
the door flew off and
the monster was sucked
down Comedy’s throat.

Horror gaped, aghast –
Comedy swallowed in shock.
The morning sickness
was beyond compare,
and every sense brought
nausea until, at last,
the babe was born.

“His face is like an accident,”
said Horror, with contempt.
“I want to look away, but
can’t.” Comedy couldn’t
stop giggling. “He’s you,
my love, without the teeth.
I laugh at him and retch.”

“He is mine,” said Horror.
“and yours in incongruity.
There’s humor in him.
We’ll name him Disgust,
and be a family.” Comedy
didn’t reply; she was too busy
cleaning up her infant’s shit.

©2021 Damian Ward Hey All rights reserved.

Molloy College Professor, Damian Ward Hey

Damian Ward Hey has had poetry published in several places, including Poetry Pacific, Truck, and Cricket Online Review. More recently, his work has appeared in Madness Muse Press, and will appear in the upcoming anthology, Poets with Masks On. He lives on Long Island and is a professor of literature and theory at Molloy College.

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