Jeffrey Zable

                           IN THE FIRST PLACE

I have no idea why vaginas are thought to be sideways smiles,

but I do know that when one is born there is someone

who is passing on to the next realm simultaneously and all

we can do is think more positive than negative for the deceased

and what they tried to bring to the table. What I mean is that everyone

is a combination of light and dark and that the ones who seem

to have way more dark were probably pulled out by the teeth

and laid out on a gurney to dry, but unfortunately never did.

These people had overbites that were never corrected in time

for them to do little more than sit in front of a television

and throw darts at famous cartoon characters who tried

to make them laugh but never could. And knowing that many

will disagree with my assessment, all I can say is that I hear you

and wish you the best regardless of whether we’ll meet one day

at the corner store while waiting in line to pay for some parsley

even though we have no idea why we needed it in the first place...

WHAT I’M SAYING

If AI showed up at my front door posing as an encyclopedia

salesperson, I’d know what it was really up to, and before

it could get to me, I’d kick it down the stairs, cause no one—

especially a machine—is gonna take over my brain and get me

to do things I wouldn’t do naturally, like give someone a ride

to their doctor, the baseball stadium, or to the Safeway in the Potrero

District that seems to have more choices than some of the others.

And the someone would preferably look like a real person

I’ve seen around the neighborhood and appeared to at least

have a job, or if they were old, at least seemed as if they once did.

And so, what I’m saying is that even though I’m not a big fan of AI,

I still feel it’s entitled to exist as long as it stays far enough away

from wherever I happen to be…

HELPFUL THINGS TO KNOW

Of course, it would be helpful to know exactly when I’m going to die,

and how it’s going to happen— whether it be through natural causes,

or whether a sniper is going to pick me off from one of the roof tops

while on my way to the corner store to get a French bread for the wife

and some milk for my cereal.

It would also be helpful to know the meaning of life since it’s always

been a question that’s baffled me, including why I received the parents

that I did, as well as the teachers I had early on in my educational

process, presenting me with stuff I mostly could have done without,

with the exception of learning to read, find the lavatory, and open a window

on an unusually warm day.

It would also be helpful to know which friends were going to manipulate

the conversation before I called any of them out of boredom or loneliness—

making me feel worse during, and afterward.

These are a few things that would be helpful to know, but, of course,

there are other things as well too numerous to mention.

QUITE OFTEN

I wonder why I stick around.

Yet I smile through it all—

at least around those of my kind.

When alone, I lie on the sofa

staring at shadows on the wall,

remembering that I once had friends

who said that I showed great promise.

“Great promise to do what?” I’d ask,

and each would shrug their shoulders—

take another sip of their drink,

which could have been beer, wine,

or some kind of soda.

I no longer remember who drank what,

nor where I was at the time.

ALONG THE WAY

One could say that it’s all in a day’s life

which doesn’t say much if you’re on a drug

that only allows you to remember events

from the time you were under three years old

which may not be so bad if you had a bed

near the window that looked down onto the yard

next door where the beautiful woman’s behind

would shake while pulling clothes off the clothesline.

And you thought to yourself if only I could grow up

to be rich, famous and handsome. But if you could

only be one of the three you’d surely choose rich

because everyone loves money, and some

will even lie, cheat, and kill for it

without ever feeling a twinge of guilt

along the way.

Jeffrey Zable is a teacher, conga drummer/percussionist who plays for dance classes  and rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area, and a writer of poetry, flash-fiction, and non-fiction. He's published five chapbooks and his writing has appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies, more recently in Rundelania, Misfit, Streetcake, The Argyle, Brief & Incorrect, The Ravens Perch, Datura,Top Shelf, and many others. His selected poetry, "When I'm Dead and Feeling Blue" is now available from Amazon or directly from Androgyne Books.