They call it the best thing
But the real thing that’s so elusive
I’ve lived a life wondering if there is such a thing
Sometimes the search makes me feel reclusive.

Like some bone that’s supposed to be part of everybody,
But it’s an element that is hard to see,
And I’ve come to believe there is no such thing
Because it is something I never seem to see in me.

I’ve seen some radiations about it from the screen
Yeah, some of those flicker-people from my TV
They just exude it – well it seems
Then I see many sheep-people flock
To those self-esteem idols that make the scene.

Now watch those heroes fall in lies
See them shame themselves, their wives,
Their kids, their whole damn lives…
Listen while I tell you that if you
Made your own mother, in interviews, lie
Then you had too much to hide
To have real self-esteem.

Well, that’s what most therapists say,
And I know because of all that’s tied up in it;
Sex, success, purchasing to excess,
Love, control, sharing, admiration staring.
Staring, staring at me? Doctor?  Doctor!
Why is it the one pill you don’t have in your repertoire
The one that will impart this personal essence?
I’d think you could find some self-esteem master,
But one who  hoard it like a bastard,
And hook a needle up and refine what you find.
You’d have isolated that single factor
And distributing a single c.c. to everyone you see…
But you haven’t you see …
And for that only two reasons could be;

Either this is a non-such thing we talk about,
Or you, yourself, lack this “self-esteem”
And need to keep ’em coming in your times of doubt
So if the therapist can’t find it
Well then, maybe never mind it
There’s no such thing.

There is just no such thing,
And  that funny how this thing
For which some people praise and sing
 real -- but two opposites are?
There’s the devastating lack of --
The other’s too much, too much to show love,
And any others those people push aside and shove.

So excess is false esteem,
And the lack is low esteem
Mr. Therapist says both make you come off mean
Both make it hard for love to come your way
Yet again, low esteem types flock the false kind’s way.
That’s another symptom, the doctor’s say.
So from these debates there’s no escape
And by the time the doctor’s done with his mind rape
See, then, where your self-esteem rates.

That is – were there such a thing.
So, we’re stuck with the lack and the glut
Without a recourse, a neither, nor a “but”,
And would our lives feel so stuck in our customary ruts
Were there really self-esteem?

June 10, 2012

I am unsettled; I spin

Like a top let loose on a corrugated terrain

With a distinct eye fixed at the far end of the wall

Holding a message for me; slyly asking,

“Will you let up once more?”


Air currents jab at my sides;

I pirouette on steepled feet; my footwork

Honed and worn smooth, like a trusty old chair.


My spinning neck

Feels the eye’s gaze, jabbing at me

Waiting on the far side, its lashes still moist

from our frenzied parting


and I turn and turn again, disconcerted, un-concerned, out of sync with all the world.

Waiting in my car
Lurching, lurching, lurching
Someone planned this place?
Really?
Did they plan for this jacked up pick-up truck
To be positioned just outside my open window
Opened because my AC is broke
Because I am broke
I’m broke but I scuttle about to make ends meet
Red goes green and the truck
Belches black and fills my space
In my car, it’s in my face.
This can’t be good for the baby.

There I go again
Of all the things to think at a time like this
Now it’s the two train crush
Downtown’s blocked in, so’s the way out
What baby wants to have this
Mommy can’t feed herself
About to lose them a place to dwell
Can’t get organized to not be late
Getting from work to the doctor’s
Still reeling from this happening in the first place.

Still flashing back to a night
Two months ago;
I’m still trying to remember the boy
Still trying to remember even being asked if this,
Any of it,
Was what I’d take on.

Well by the time I knew what all it entailed
What I’d now happen to have to carry
Other than just carrying a sweaty, bull-headed, word-using college-boy
Lurching, lurching, lurching
Situation, situation, situation

Yeah, I can’t have to deal with it
Eighteen more years ahead
Of still filtering that out of wishing
Wishing I’d had the strength to push him off

Sorry, baby, this can’t be
I’m not good for you now
It’s not good for you or me

In another life or other time
There might be some better signs,
And I’ll love you with a heart and life that’s full,
But today, this week, this year
This decision is what’s responsible,
And since that boy couldn’t bother with responsible
Someone’s got to step up and be responsible,
Like a parent.

Finally no trains, no lights,
No smoky diesel trucks to fight
Just a couple of appointments will set this right
We’ll try again someday to meet
We’ll be stars, you and I
That time
But for now there’s no amount of
Food stamp, therapy, single mom, welfare
That can make you a good home,
Compared to the one in your dreams;
That you deserve.
In front of the doctor’s office I take a moment to
Sigh
And cry
And just try not to die.

I go within and we begin
And with screwed up courage
I read packets of wordage
Then stop, hold on, stay in control.

There’s a new form that they have to share with me
Something the state inserted, mandatory
What was my second visit has to be number two of three.
They have to show me what’s inside me.

Well fine, but I thought that bill had been defeated
Doctor admits the General Assembly sneakily had it repeated
For him this means something he has to do
That slows the abortion with something new.

Easy, that’s fine, we still have one month on trimester time,
Ultrasound today, come back, that’s fine.

So cold, naked, under crinkly paper gowns.
Still I think on how these roadblocks make for better towns
In a dim room with machines that faintly whir
And a technician pressing and pressing, looking for a stir
Can’t find a thing, just a minute dear
The tech steps out and leaves me with a minute of growing fear
And another
And another
It’s about to get very detached around here
It’s about to get very dissociated around here
I feel her plan lurching, lurching, lurching
That’s the start of the fear

The nurse and doctor step up to the plate
Examining the screen, take a moment, contemplate…
Just a different internal geometry,
Not a problem at any rate,
Just have to image with a different method.

Without another word and without any doubt,
And very like sweaty college-boy when he’s on and in and out.
The doctor attaches an internal probe the older model’s coming out
Though cold, plastic and institutional
A bit of gel will make up for it being nine-inches-long.
And the lurching, lurching, lurching
A deep breath of acceptance; this is how it happens
They put it in and do their thing like you’re not there


Putting an object in there
In this state
Is illegal in any other way
And all along
She’s been a good girl,
But now it’s more accepting having no say.


Closing her eyes is no kind of cock-block.
Is it the doctor, the state, or her congressman

That just twisted it up for a better view?
The real concerning pains building; those are new.

And is the doctor really to blame
Even he’s been shoved by unseen forces into this game,
But here it is shoved up inside her all the same.
Now it’s inside her space, it’s in her face
Just like the burn of the shame.
This was supposed to be an abortion roadblock
But in no way was it sweaty’s cock-block
And now it’s like most other urban planning,
At best it’s ad hoc.
Will the state figure out it’s raping some hers before it’s too late?
Or will it happen for years before they sit back to take stock?

Sweet White Wine
By Bethany Davis

sweet white wine
spilled from
the bottle
containing it
sparkling
glistening
in the lamp light
where it sits pooled
around the opening
of that lovely bottle
i gaze upon
smiling
i lean down
open my lips
and lick away that wine
that natural wine
so sweet
so salty
from the flesh bottle
from which it came

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Central Heating
By Bethany Davis

Central heating
On a cold day
Such a pleasure
Such a joy
A chilly house
Bringing goose bumps
To my bare skin
And making my breasts hard
My nipples stand up
Cami and shorts
Not warm enough
For the chilly house
The water running
Warming for my shower
As I wait I get ready
My shorts fall
To the cold floor
My cami on top
My panties slide
Down my legs
To pile on the floor
I step to the corner
Legs spread over the vent
Closing my eyes to enjoy
I can't help but wonder
Does the house's central heating
Enjoy the view more
Or does my central heating
Enjoy its touch more?

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