The Hot dog poem

I smashed a hot dog into her face

because she refused to pass,

the catsup because ... I forget why.

So she ran after me and shook me

then took the seven dollars and my keys

and her card and went out to the movies

and I took out my butcher knife

and slammed it on her table and made

four dents in it and then threw

myself on the bed and stared at the cuff

of my shirt and thought how love

chokes you and then I got up and

rubbed salad oil into the dents

and cleaned up the house and

made a pile of my books in the

bedroom and got my pen and set the

phone up in case anyone might call

and looked in my address book

for the list I have of possible

lovers and called a few numbers

relieved they weren't home, and then

I wrote in my journal how I hate her

then called Nicky on the phone

and we talked during the commercial

about rage. Then she said she had to

hang up, it was a special on DeGaulle,

so I hung up and leafed through

a book of stories by women about love.

From Extremes: Poems 1971-1981, published by Blue Giant Press (1981). Originally published in Hanging Loose, issue 41.