Hypothetical Antipodes, Judgment

Hardly any of me is solid any more, I mean I buy
things every day.
And there comes a time when I am feeling
as windblowed as the apples
in the Shenandoah.
And there goes I who then again began
tho what does this Mrs. Begin?
(she says I am)

And cast down me wretched
sinner unto thee I am
slightly different from
a corpse at a funeral
in that I am less made up
but made up worse.

Who I thereby did appoint myself
but forgot which was mirror.
I stand stabbed with wrench piss
rabid at the counter
matter of things in the room
with which I
identify.

Somewheres crossed up in hot
antartic mountains
they live backwards together.

Whose feet then were backwards
whose feet were needing shoes
so badly in 1964 that millions
virtual millions of shoes were
sent to “Appalachia Virginia”
for they were too poor—“backward.”
America glared haughtily at
local shoe burnings that Christmas.

But I’m not antarctical
nor hypo
thetic.

My mind gleams like the fangs
of a viper in white heat
dying to sink my teeth into
the throat of something wrong.

Copyright Credit: Philip Jenks, “Hypothetical Antipodes, Judgment” from On the Cave You Live In. Copyright 2002 by Philip Jenks. Reprinted with the permission of Flood Editions.
Source: On the Cave You Live In (Flood Editions, 2002)