We are a weird species. I know this because one of the prettiest poems I’ve written is about peeing and it’s in a litmag called Taco Bell Quarterly. To read the poem, click here.
Called The Taco Bell Bathroom at Bathurst Street, the poem is about homelessness, what a body needs, the small ways we show kindness – and burritos.
Enjoy.
(edited image – original by Michael McCullough)
This poem was written to celebrate Augur Magazine reaching their 200th backer on their Kickstarter. Yay! If you’d like to back them, click here. Even if you can’t, please share the Kickstarter wherever you can. And no matter what, enjoy this promised poem about space cake.
by H. E. Casson (CW: Food, family separation)
Dear mom,
From here in space
I think of you
While eating cake
Another thought
It made me stop
Is that I’ll never lick the blades
You know –
From when you beat the eggs
And sugar
Flour, butter, cream
And then you’d scream
“Turn that thing off
And get this treat!”
(There always was a thing –
A TV
Game
Computer screen)
Off it’d go
And you would show me
How to lick
Between the blades
Until we’d made
A mess of us
I’ll tell you
Cake in outer space
Is soft and moist
To keep its shape
It floats and clings
The crew all sings
From pouches
Happy birthday squeezed
And I am seized
By memories of you
And how I’ll never lick the blades
Created by a cake you’ve made
I traded cake for
Outer space
And outer space is bigger than
The memories we make
Than the smell of chocolate cake
H. E. Casson 