Saturday Poem

Poem in Which the Speaker Manages to Get a Quick Question in Edgewise as a List of Instructions is Dictated Regarding How Her Poems Ought to Be Written Via a Megaphone Located Above Her Headboard

We want you to write a poem in interest-free monthly installments.
A poem that is open 24 hours a day. A poem that includes wi-fi.
A poem made to be posted on Instagram.
A poem wearing cruelty-free make-up.
We want, naturally, a poem with no conservatives, a poem
low in saturated fat. A lactose-free, gluten-free, decaffeinated poem.

———————- —So, do you want a poem, or a soy venti chai latte?

We want a little word-making machine.
a music box without the ballerina
a remote control toy with batteries included.
The Noumenon Poem.
The Homeric Poem in Present Pluperfect.
The Phenomenal Bullet Poem.
The Multidisciplinary Poem, Incorporated.
We want an acrobatic, polyglot poem, a poem
with a T-shirt that reads [there is no poem b]
A poem that can be sung out loud. That pays its own way.
A poem without an expiration date. In other words, we want
a poem that counts backward from ninety-nine to zero
as instructed by an anesthesiologist. In other words, we want
a poem that will not wake up during surgery.

by Sara Uribe
from: Antígone González
© Translation: 2016, Tanya Huntington, J.D. Pluecker
Les Figues Press, , 2016