My Constant Wife and Our Theoretical Children

My Constant Wife and Our Theoretical Children


forever concern me with questions about proper
crib construction, color schemes, compression
of my space consumption. Once, I was a room,
then two rooms and a bathroom, now a room again;
soon, I’ll be a corner, a shelf,
a worried presence.

I must learn economy of spirit. I must consume.
Slight ease supercedes all other concerns.
My theoretical children
require constant immersion in entertainment.
A stable, growing income is a priority.
Ennui is not a color scheme.

Catalogs can be recycled if you find the time.
Relationships with theoretical parents
must be cultivated. Don’t speak
to them of real concerns, only trivialities,
brand comparisons, sports; they are not friends.
Adults don’t have friends.

There is emptiness in your life, trust me.
It must be filled.
The petty, useless thing you fear
you are must teach a life to govern itself.
You’ve read things; recall them.
Turn inward; there’s nothing outside but danger,
and people who don’t know how to drive.


C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on Pank Magazine