Shappy Seasholtz has been the surly barkeep at the BOWERY POETRY CLUB since it opened in 2002 and currently is co-slammaster and host of their weekly poetry slam, NYC-URBANA. He has toured with Lollapalooza, has been featured on season three of HBO'S DEF POETRY and has been running the National Nerd Slam for the past 8 years. He has complete run of H.R. Puffnstuff comics, a vintage Charlie Tuna lamp and a robot that plays 8-tracks.

Three Poems (December 20, 2009. Issue 12.)

Chupacabra

Something has sucked all of the blood
out of my goats! Look at these shriveled
goat carcasses that litter my fields!

There are two puncture wounds
on each of the goat's throats.

This can only be the work of
El Chupacabra!

Why, Chupacabra?

Why my goats?

Why not my my wife or children,
whom I have to provide for?

Last week, my oldest son was huffing gasoline
and punching my goats in the face.

Luis, I said to him, Please, do not punch my goats
in the face! but he would not listen.

Oh, Chupacabra, why did you not suck the blood
from my ingrate son, Luis?

Four nights ago, I brought my prize goats
into our casa to warm them. The night air was frio.

My wife, Juanita, she yelled at me: Carlos Rodriguez
Simpatico! Why do you bring these stinking goats
into my casa? There is a goat ion our bed! Sometimes,
I think you love your goats more than me! Dos Mios!

And then she spat in my face!
The same face I use to smile at my goats!

Oh, Chupacabra!

Why did you not suck the spiteful blood
out my insolent wife's neck? Why did you not grab
her
with your spiny claws and hypnotize her with your
red,
glowing eyes until she submitted to your vampiric
ways?

Oh, Chupcabra!

You killed ALL of my goats. You drained my prize
goat,
Rosario, of all of her sweet, loving goat blood!

She was like people to me.

She would always come to me when I called her.

Not like my teenage whore of a daughter, Maria,
who sleeps with all of the men of the village for
loose pesos.
Once she peed on my goat scrapbook just to get MY goat!

But you got all of my goats, Chupacabra! ALL OF
THEM!

Now I must gather as much coyote urine as I can
find
to lure and trap you with, Chupacabra!

You monster! Have you no heart?

Perhaps, you too have a family of your own
that you can not stand and this is how you cut
loose?

Oh, Chupacabra, if is the case, perhaps one day,
we will meet at the local cantina and I will buy
you
a tequila and you can tell me your troubles.

And then, I will take you out back and slit your neck
And I will drink YOUR blood, Chupacabra. Because
you suck, Chupacabra. Literally. Chupacabra!

Skunk Ape

Here's the thing, you might not
be able
to see 'em, But you sure as
hell can smell 'em!

Them fuckers smell like a pile
of dead skunks
what's been shit outta an old,
sick gator.

I suppose that's why they call
'em

SKUNK APES!

These red-headed fuckers done ate
my best huntin' dog Thursday
last!

Some asshole tried to tell me
these things
only ate berries and leaves and
shit.

Bullshit!

I came out with my shotgun when
I heard
ol' Rufus makin' a racket out
near the tool shed.

I damn near shit my britches
when I seen this
ranga-tan lookin' motherfucker
draggin' ol' Rufus

out to the briar patch.I manged
to fire off
a couple of rounds but it
didn't do shit.

Motherfuckin' Skunk Ape took
ol' Rufus
away from me. I can still smell
that foul ass stench

'round where Rufus used ta lay
his sweet haid.
I tell you what, you can sit
there and tell me

I'm just some crazy hillbilly.
You can say
You dumb shit they ain't no such damn thang

as no damn Skunk Ape. But I seen what I
saw.
I smelt what that critter
dealt.

I swear on a stack of family
bibles-

THEY IS SUCH A THANG AS SKUNK
APES!

An next time I see that smelly,
red-haired, no good,
dog eatin' motherfucker I'm
gonna blast it's fool haid off,

give it to some science fucker,
collect my money
and drink a cold beer in
Rufus's honor.

Swear to God.

I Hate Yuppies Poem #138

All right you young, upwardly mobile FUCKS!
You win! I give up, okay?
Just power walk and roller blade
over my bruised and bleeding slacker ASS!
Kick me and my freaky friends
out of loft spaces and cheap apartments
and go condo, pussycat, BUILD! BUILD!
Kick all the old men out of my favorite dive bars.
charge me a cover and get me a $22 chocolate martini
while you're at it, JACK!
Keep crowding up all the bars on the weekends
with your cell phones and cigar smoke
and frat brothers and sorority sisters
and your incessant yak-yak-yakkity-yak-yak
about everything and nothing.
Put an ATM on every corner
and never throw the bums a dime in your prime
and how many roads must a man walk down
before he can find himself in a
STARBUCKS?!?!
The answer, my friend, is TWO BLOCKS!
How is your coffee, sir?
Too black? Too strong?
TOO BLACK? TOO STRONG?
Well, you better start tearing down
those housing projects
so you can park your URBAN ROAD VEHICLE
in a secure urban environment!
Continue not to support any local band,
artist or poet, and feel free to talk loudly
over anyone trying to entertain you
with anything that might cause to think
more than you would watching an episode
of TWO AND HALF MEN!
Keep `improving' our fair city
Whitewash all of our city's dirty, grimy heritage into a Martha Stewart
merry-go-round of MEDIOCRITY!
Me?
I'm getting off this crazy thing, Dick.