This Is Beyond Cabin Fever
I raise a glass to the pessimistic foosball table
to the jaded comedian, the sexy janitor
& the owl who dropped out of high school.
A toast to Trader Joe’s employees sporting unicorn masks
at the chili mango, freeze-dried hibiscus chip, cilantro ube smoothie aisle.
Cheers to the ones who place blue tape 6 feet apart on the sidewalks
& one way signs in the narrow aisles of whole wheat buns and bran cereal.
Let’s pop a cork & splash champagne on our crotches
for the very specific words I have yet to learn
& to the socially distancing practices of Wakanda greetings
& high 5s that are 9 time zones away.
Let’s toast pitchers to the warrior hedgehogs training for Iron Hog on Facebook live.
Let’s snort several perpendicular lines of coke for the sloping hill that I am
lying naked as a glacier on a black leather sofa staying in one place
for hours, months, centuries, without moving.
I am a pastoral sunset of bushes that blossom and burning bunnies.
I am the lusty destination of your confetti funeral or ash wedding.
Toast me now with gummy bear shots & girl scout cookies dunked in tequila.
Let us orgy ourselves into the next species of human evolution, the cabinet of life!
How Has The Pandemic Affected You Personally?
I dream in smoke. I dream in paisley. I dream in camouflage.
I dream I am the sidekick boyfriend of Will from Land of the Lost.
In a virus-infested world, squids have mutated into a proprietary alien intelligence.
We destroy them with sanitizers of vodka and coconut milk.
I move as if an invisible harpoon is lodged inside my lungs.
I talk to avocado pits as if they were potential Tinder dates.
I regrow scallions in egg drop soup containers.
Every seed is a jewel.
I label toilet paper. I can wipe my butt thru July.
My recyclables are used to build an alternative power source:
a hypersexed cage to store my pent up libido.
I worship the sun.
I use a sundial that breaks. I can’t get technical support.
I am The Little Prince in a mid-life crisis.
I open my mouth and doves cry.
My trip to Paris is canceled.
I astral project to ancient Rome
and find myself naked in a 3 way
with Time & Time.
Ménage à trois in Quarantine
on a bed w/
a fat wet
Christ on a Crock Pot
after Fernando Raguero’s “Christ on a Cracker”
Christ on a Crock Pot
sleigh bells off a roof
Christ on a Crowbar
at the gym
in a Speedo
giving Lindsay Graham
Christ on a Cruiser
slips in her tub
on a gondola
lambs and cubs
Christ on a Crabcake
a beam board
sailing 7 seas
Christ on a Crapper
Christ on a Crayola
cups a nipple
fights to tip
Christ on a Crocus
upon the moon
Christ on a Cradle
Super Bowling boobs
Christ on a Crack House
clangs a trolley
makes a brand new start of it
belting New York
from here to Bali
Regie Cabico is a former Nuyorican Poets Cafe Grand Slam Champion. His work appears in Poetry, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Bellevue Literary Review, and EOAGH. Cabico is the recipient of numerous fellowships from The New York Foundation of the Arts & The DC Commission for the Arts. He is the producer and publisher of Capturing Fire Slam and Press. He lives on top of a Trader Joe’s in Washington, DC.
Image: “Annual 2016-2017” by Alan Coon