What accrued over a number of days was a sort of structure,
a kind of architecture that shamed even some modern
engineers who couldn’t envision just how something so disorganized
happened to jive in such a correct manner. But,
of course it accrued in this manner! WTF? Are you a dumb ass?
Yes, the days and the eternally spinning mechanism
of O My Fucking God continue, and continue to accrue.
You can’t possibly think you’re special, right?

I just don’t want to find myself in the scenario of having to comfort
you, ad nausea, because, at some fucking party,
some dick, some whatever, made you question your identity.
My job, as I see it, is not to be a pillar you can lean on,
but to be a pillar you may or may not be able to count on.
It’s a sort of Rube Goldberg device, a balancing act.
What, you think I make this shit up? Of course not!
I’m depending on you, too! We need each other, Tina!

Peter Davis’ books of poems are Hitler’s Mustache, Poetry! Poetry! Poetry! and Tina (forthcoming in spring 2013). He’s had poems in places like Court Green, Coconut, Spooky Boyfriend, and The Best American Poetry. He lives in Muncie, Indiana and teaches at Ball State University. For more info check