Notes On Fight Club

The moral is,
Inside every Edward Norton
There’s a Brad Pitt laying him flat.
Everyone I know is engaged
In subliminal acts of terror.
John Doe for Generation X
Is a sexed up apparition
Of a boy with broken teeth.

I am Miriam’s throttled scream.
She doesn’t know it yet, but
A guy (let’s call him Tyler)
Will break her knee with a
Hammer if it means he
Steals a kiss. Millennials
Are suckers for fair-trade
Coffee beans. And sound-bites.

And don’t kiss me for an hour,
At least. Maybe longer.
I have coffee breath.
Practice being different from
Young people seventeen
Years older. Use a mirror.
Or plant an invasive species
Because it’s pretty. Or punch,

Me? I want world peace to be
The work of someone less angry
Than us. Or sure enough to bite
In self-defense. And imaginary
Friends are only good for one,
Maybe two things: a place
To crash and a subtle hint
That our mind is drifting.


By Miriam McEwen Featured in the Clemson Literary Journal, The Chronicle, Spring 2016


Read other writings by Miriam:

The Young Women’s Guide to Making Bad Matters Worse

Mother’s Milk

Notes on Fight Club

Tuesday’s In September

A Brief Record of Interrupted, Rural Solitude

Graduation, period

Creature Comforts