"I tell this with a shrug.
The new lessee on the lease had, we thought, potential,
but his heart was a finished piece.
He loved the Wizard of Oz, he loved
to gargle with triple sec, hit midgets with spatulas.
And when the police would confer at our doorstep,
he'd stare at them in a steadiness of wonder.
Easier to chew on rocks than be like that.
Between us, it's easier to wrestle macaques, balance
encyclopedias on your penis."
I read that poem once in a bookstore,
and I had a sort of a reverse heckler at the end of the poem.
He yelled out, easier for you.
I don't know.
I had a bad experience.