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2 poems by
Laura McCullough
> bio

Of Cuckolds and Crucifixions
Fox news announces a plot
to expose Christianity
to the subversives
alphabetically listed
in a file held by the Denver
PD who got their software
from the Poindexter knowledge-
is-power plot to expose
the subversives who haven’t
gotten Christianity yet.
Fair and balanced; bling bling.
Bush is doing okay. If you disagree
or are a member of the Friends,
Bill O’Reilly wants to send a limo
to get you; there’s a new breed
of lion in Rome, the vanities
are beyond burning – now
we eat you live on reality
TV and let the dead
eat their dead.
Anna Nicole has the power
to self-medicate; Lara
Croft has the right to enlarge
her own breasts. Mike Myers
lets Austin Powers play
with Fuk Yoo and Fuk Me;
irony is dead and the dead
can eat that, too, while
on the continent of Africa,                                       
frightened men rape
baby girls to cleanse their
bodies of deadly viruses,
reported on BBC not Fox.
Cirque Du Soleil can’t conceive
of something as everlasting
as a virgin who got laid,
but didn’t get any of the fun
setting up 2000 years
of female sexual guilt
and despite Robert Bly
and good Mickey Hart’s
drumming, committing
Joseph -- and all good,
communicative men --
to doubt and self-loathing.
Fox News announces Mel Gibson
is being crucified for his depiction
of a crucifixion earning him
a spot on a list of subversives
who speak Latin and eschew
sub-titles on principle.
The coin of the realm when spun
on its edge costs twice
the face value.
There will be a processing
fee if you plan
to use this machine.

- Please Note: "Cuckolds and Crucifixions" appears concurrently in Slow Trains Literary Journal.


We all know about his sacrifice,
But what about the other Josephs
Who are like those kind of women –                           
The best kind, whose love is so large
It spills over in the permissions of belly
Rings and under wire bras and the word
Girlfriend, and the exuberance
Of kisses and hugs in all public
Places – and want to give everything
They’ve got now, knowing
It’s the best thing they own.
What happens to a Joseph who lifts
His shirt for the first good woman
He meets and worships the dream
Of Creole tongues? Who likes words
Like  vermilion and verisimilitude,
The citrus odor of fruitcake and sex
He was lucky enough to get
That first good Christmas?
That Joseph is as innocent as Mary
Impregnated with civilization,
Betrayed, this time, by a woman
Who couldn’t be all women,
Who couldn’t eat his body,
Leaving Joseph only maimed,
Tucking his shirt back in, a new
Dictionary in his pocket, words
He’d only ever heard in other men’s
Mouths, his own tongue a swollen,
Solitary monster the size of a dark
And bleeding Clementine.




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