Who Saved Who

Madeline Cash for Flaunt Magazine Issue 183

Your diet,
says my doctor.
It’s terrible.

Seriously,
says my doctor.
Your diet should look like this:

🧂
🐟🍣
🥛🧀🥛
🍗🐓🍗🐓
🍓🍉🍌🍍🍑🥝
🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩
🍝🥖🍚🍝🥖🍚🍝🥖🍚

Your poem,
says my editor.
It’s terrible.
You can’t write a poem about your diet.
It’s trite.

Seriously,
says my editor.
Write something meaningful.
Latent trauma.
Ethnic cleansing.
The price of oil.
We’re in a W.A.R. after all.

Trite means
lacking originality or freshness
but it’s also
genus of jumping spider.

My diet looks like this:

🚬
🎂🍰
🍷🍷🍷🍷
🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬
🍺🍻🍺🍻🍺🍻
🍣🍱🍣🍱🍣🍱🍣🍱
🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸

I go to the expensive market.
A kid in line screams, “JUICE! JUICE!”
But it sounds enough like, “JEWS! JEWS!”
that I wince for the Hasidic man behind us.

Mosquitos are eating me alive this summer.
Their diet looks like this:

🩸
🩸🩸
🩸🩸🩸🩸
🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸
🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸
🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

My poem is a jumping spider.
My diet is getting worse.
It lacks originality or freshness.
It’s affecting the mosquitos.
Their doctors are getting worried.

The mosquitos are sucking my blood like, “JUICE! JUICE!”
But it comes out like molasses. Like oil,
the price of which is very high.
We’re in a war,
after all.