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
A Brief Record of Interrupted, Rural Solitude
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