about taxes, LED harsh
lighting fixtures, customer
service, prescriptions,
legalese, the rapture, generally,
how tight the cord

should be
in birth, round my neck,
about catastrophe, both
far away
& then close, like visual signals
socially understood.

             I took shallow
             breaths, was hard & dry,
             needed patting down
             with a damp cloth
to soften in the heat
correctly. my composition—sorry,
constitution—went less rigid.

             situationally, I begged to be
             a consultant
blue in the hospital room
the Doctors waved
around their CT scans
& blew into their stethoscopes

             I can be stealthy—sorry, smart—too,
             I thought
but stumbled
before even
my first crawl.
             I walked first
             breath hitching
             in the starlit living
             room ending
my walk at the fruit
upholstered armchair
where my first dog
would later lay & make
the cheap stuffing stink
from years of being
comforting.

when my parents asked me
my first question:
should this be the future
dog’s chair?
             I said yes, proving
             once & for all
I should not be consulted.
that is, quite literally,
just a baby
the Doctors said.

             I was situationally
             unhappy. the physical
             thing just wasn’t for me.
the Doctors looked & looked
at their shoes
but could not hear
what was wrong.
they had microscopes & everything.
something called a culture
was hard, rigid,

             frozen
on the page. they read
up on blue, cords, & babies
without official names.
they realized that, should
the situation permit it,
             I would not pay
             my taxes. I would not
             use the overhead
             light. I would not pray
             consistently & I would
             be gay intermittently—
             sorry, interpersonally.

& they only realized
it later—when I’d already been
set free, let loose. by then
             I was consoled by
             constantly having
             a contrary opinion.
             I consistently pick the wrong
             word for the sentence. I worry
             & cause—no, predict—catastrophe.
             when I turn on lights they go
liquid, swallow the room
like they know it.