This poem is called "Wearing My Nose."
[INTERPOSING VOICES]
Wearing my nose.
It takes a lot of nerve to stick out
so far in front of your face.
It feels big and hooked.
I wish my cock felt as big.
I will it to be straight up tilted.
I peek at it through one eye at the downward curve.
I study the hump.
Is it to smell with or to poke into crevices and holes
inquisitively, or to take the temperature of the space
before you?
It provides passage to air in and drool out.
Rummaging inside can reward with enchanting nuggets.
[LAUGHTER]
Often with a comet trail of slime.
[LAUGHTER]
And the indignity of a fly landing on it
or a pimple emerging on it hotly.
Wearing my nose while driving, I feel pugnacious.
[LAUGHTER]
My father let me know it was my inheritance.
His was broken by a baseball bat,
mine unbroken did not make my fortune.
It tells the world of my disgrace instead my failure.
There is sadness there, it is ODS,
a leftover pain from a childhood punch in the nose.
It is an accumulation of pains, it
is where I feel most humiliated, like a bundle I carry.
It is surely discussed behind my back.
I prefer to imagine it is not there.
I will it not to be there, but I know
it shows and everyone knows.
[INTERPOSING VOICES]
[APPLAUSE]