A second chance

if they were to

strap me down

upon the concrete bed

aside the

polished steel 

of the

Dairy Queen

machine

modified just for me

with the carnival calliope

and that special

polyethylene

hose

the "new car smell"

threaded

with such care

from

the

spigot

to

my

gullet

would i bear it well?

 

would i fight back

when they threw the switch

and the warm

slop 

began

to 

flow?

 

i’ve heard

it said

they sometimes

fill these machines with

medical 

waste

but

this tastes 

different

today

 

oh sure

i might struggle

even as 

my abdomen

distends

my fibres 

unravel

the tar 

seeps out from me

and

wets

my

spine

 

i might 

risk

everything

anything

for

a second 

chance

 

i might

but then 

again

Reviews

[Nobody.]

:) this is beautiful.
the honest pondering of hyperbolic images that cast a skewed reflection of the damage we strange little creatures so often inflict upon ourselves.

it's mildly insulting in the most delightful way. questioning the durability of the self under fire, questioning the daily activities of a race of creatures who want to think less and consume more all the time, questioning one's own will to continue existisng, alongside the will of an entire species, questioning if/if not the term "victim" applies when the one being poisoned is lapping the toxic agents like a cat at warm milk.......questioning is good

although I'm alost positive that the real answers to these questions would frighten us all to the point of shaking.

good poem.

cheers!
RG

[AYVID N]

Being put through an extreme physical test of endurance, like being made a part of a machine, would probably make us rethink a lot of things, perhaps change the way we think, at least for a time.

There are all sorts of sensations I conjured in my mind, like being pushed into a hard surface, my nostrils invaded with hard, industrial smells, my belly distending ultimately to burst and my skin coated with something sticky. Over and above all, a terrifying loss of control over my body. None of these felt pleasant and almost filled me with a horror.

Machines are so inhuman and steely. Never want to be in the grip of one! I appreciate my present state better after reading this poem.

Beautifully written Frank!

[Ciara]

Nothing is the same after a second chance. That's true for relationships and things.
Broken once, they're never the same as before.
I enjoyed this thought provoking write. 👍👏💛

[Eilis]

I find this poem compelling. A lot of your poetry has the kind of humor that presents something quite horrific in an almost slapstick way. I’m trying to think how to express that properly. There are those home video programs where people are laughed at while suffering and people actually send in their own videos of moments of pain in the hopes of being monetarily rewarded, or more simply of being seen for a moment on a wider scale. We seem to be a species that thrives on extremes.

Sometimes you hear it said that we are living in the worst of times, but a brief glimpse backward through history is likely to disprove this. People would happily sit in front of the tv and watch this process of a man being drowned by his own undefined desires/undefined need and the horror would somehow become entertainment. Like the gladiator spectacle or public hangings. I think the larger problem is we don’t always understand ourselves. And this leads to some dark alleys and destructive submissions that even the person carrying the act through can’t properly explain or define.

Your title speaks to something that is part of the collective consciousness as a positive move into the future. A second chance to “fix” something we feel needs repairing. But your poem offers this sense that nothing is simple. There are consequences even in the thought of redoing. How do we know the second chance won’t bring about a more troubling end. Or maybe just make us a sort of impotence filled with our own importance. Whatever that may be. I feel the question brewing: what does it mean to ask for something different. And what do we miss in looking elsewhere than where we are. Searching for something to fill a hole that can never be outwardly filled. Maybe I’ve gone off the rails with my reading, ha, but that’s where my thought process led me. The humorous brutality of the poem is quite stirring.

[SkinlessFrank]

I went back to this poem recently while thinking about the contrast between mental and physical anguish, and the contrast about what we have and what we might wish for if we found ourselves in some parallel universe where that wish could be granted. These contrasts have always fascinated me. Many years ago, I was in a serious accident, the recovery from which was full of pain hardly much else, and yet I have no recollection of what that pain felt like. On the other hand, I am still struggling with the mental anguish I suffered from a period much earlier in my life, and that pain is quite easy to conjure up. For some reason this contrast makes me think of the contrast between what we have and what we desire in life, and how what we wish for could likely be nothing more than self-deception. I am still struggling to understand why this is all jumbled together in my mind. Thanks for your comments. They allow me to reflect on it in a new way.

[lakinbob]

Garbage in, garbage out; and given we are top of the food chain, that's a lot of slop we ingest.

[M.E.Lyle]

I only remember the words Dairy Queen. I would kill for one of their Belt Buster hamburgers. But then again, I may have to undergo a second double bypass surgery. That, and that alone, prevents me from camping outside its doorsteps.
I've often wondered what I would do if given a second chance in life. Would I repeat the same mistakes I made in the past. If I knew then what I know now, would I make the same choices.
What if I had kissed that girl on New Years Eve instead of letting that moment pass?
Strap me down brother, the Dairy Queen calls my name.

[Terpsichore]

Top of the food chain, bottom of the give a s**t league about anything other than our own selfish needs; and anyone with half a conscience knows we are way past the chance of a second chance.

T

[. serah .]

-- hahahaha... the closing is spectacular... i love the tone... -- for me, poetry is about capturing an epiphany... no matter how small or insignificant it might seem... and since i majored in history (and not literature :p), i have this addiction to recording micro events... -- i say so because you could write the history of the human thought process (or the lack of it :p) in your sleep...

-- i have spent years studying the human mind (informally) but i didn't realize that the expression "second chance" could be open to interpretation... -- and i didn't think about why one craves a second chance if one does... or if one should or shouldn't...

-- and now i'm thinking that in my case, i wouldn't like a second shot at my old life... -- i wouldn't like to "reclaim it"... i'd like a new one... a blank canvas... which i can fill with a brand new box of crayons... i have been so burdened by the idea of "reclaiming" that i didn't think beyond what i had... -- i can see now that i don't even want it... -- but of course... for another reader... this could well be about risking everything and "reclaiming"... it could well be about going for the second chance...

-- thank you for sharing your epiphanies with your readers so generously... and thank you especially for reminding me that pristine black humour is about laughing at oneself... as a means to achieving a kinda metaphysical elevation of the spirit... -- in short, i'm really happy after reading this post... i could float on clouds... it's a liberated and liberating piece of writing... :)

[kmartell]

you keep getting better. turning magic around and around.

[roarke]

and the beat goes on. Fantasy portraying reality, portraying illusionary insanity. Why start now? it's an inevitable part of the eternal cycle. But then again, I'm partial to soft serve.