Action Jackson (ROUND 2)
scent of the day: Nose Rest Day
*Let’s workshop this poem about a natural but revolting incident on a grimy subway, an incident that commuters ignore for selfish reasons: olfactory discomfort outweighing even fear of seeming racist.
Action Jackson
He humps the hobo corpse on the subway, natural as a bunny—except he hooks the leg
to ogle the peekaboo, pausing (“Sshhh”) in the wedge before fresh boarders shuffle past
aversion to looking racist and mumble excuses into cars free of clobbered-colon stank.
“We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”—Kafka (against the safe-space cancel culture pushed by anti-art bullies, left and right)
