TROUBLE IN A RESTAURANT

"This is quite
the unreasonable little
chunk of existence
on my plate,"

I said to the waiter.

He told me that I
was crazy but that
I had to take it
like a kick to the
privates.

I informed him
that he was the crazy
one and that I would
engage in no such
activity.



COMING TO YOU LIVE

Now I've gone and sliced
open one of my index
fingers.

I am coming to you live
tonight from only the
words my left hand
can manage to muster.

As my larger cat snores
and snores, a disloyal
and treacherous little
girl asks for my
recommendation
when it comes to learning
about coral reef
ecology.



I USUALLY TRY TO GO AGAINST THE CROWD

"If you get me sloshed enough,"

I told the room full of strangers
and anti-idiosyncratic-uninrpirational-
tanning boothed-readers of historical fiction,

"I've been known to fill up a pint glass
with 'Texas Pete' hot sauce and chug it
down."



FEELING DIFFERENT?

I don't get it.

I wash my hair with
Crew and condition it
with Vive
Pro

yet

sometimes I feel as
though I'm doing it
with canola oil and
melted salt

I own all the Harry
Potters (though on
my bookshelf
I lodge them
in between Eugene
O'Neil plays)

I don't know.

There is just something
within me that can't press
on under the given
circumstances.

I am walking around
in a world full of people
who must be reminded
daily it's not Ashburry 73'
and I

need to get

out.



WHAT?

Remembering a trip
to the grocery store
in early 2005,

I was going to get
some ground beef
and some
ears of corn.

That's all that happened,
really, and I don't know
why I'm thinking about it
tonight.

And you won't find this
in the Paris Review
because it isn't anything at all
but what exactly
is the Paris Review?


© Joseph Goosey

Joseph Goosey lives around Jacksonville, Florida. His poetry has or will appear in one way or another in Word Riot, Neon, Remark, Locust, ESC!, Poetry Superhighway, and The Round Table Review. He has 2 cats and loves a red head.