Wonder Dave is a writer and performer from Minneapolis. Dave is a big fan of comic books and laughing at himself. In 2007 he was a recipient of the Jerome Foundation's Verve grant for spoken word artists. He also has a 17 year old cat named Jack. This September he will be embarking on a poetry tour taking him from Minnesota to San Francisco CA. Dave is stoked to be featured in The Legendary. Find out more about him online at www.wonderdave.net

Four Poems (June 20, 2010. Issue 18.)

Babies

Let’s have BABIES!
Twee little Poet Babies
We can name them horrible things
like Haiku, Sestina
and Ribcage

They will be the most beautiful babies
we never conceived
Because;
we’re going to adopt
poets don’t have children
we live out our immortality fantasy through writing

Because no ovum knowing it is destined to be named rib
and sperm knowing it is destined to be named cage
would ever agree meet

Let’s do things to purposely wreck their childhood
like
raise them
feed them
read them poetry
in utero
allow them to make too many decisions
not allow them to make enough decisions
tell them how horrible artists are so they end up inevitably dating a string of them unable to break the vicious cycle of emotional detachment and being second banana to the artist’s first love: self loathing cloaked in arrogance

Let’s dress Haiku and Sestina in matching outfits
Let’s listen to only new age and ambient music
Let’s teach them too much about whale sounds
Let’s let them express themselves
but only through whale sounds

OOOooooahoaooaooOAhhhhaoowwhAOOAOoooh

will sound like love
or anger
I can’t tell the difference

We’ll give them lunar calendars
Let’s have babies
for the sake of curing writers block
because we need to be more nurturing to one and other
because I don’t like you very much
our relationship is failing

because I’ve heard the sex is better during pregnancy
because I want you to be swollen and heavy with milk
I’m thirsty

We have run out of things to fight about today
because I watched a horrible TV movie when I was young about an adopted a child who ended up being the daughter of a psychopath who then tried to murder her adopted family
Let’s adopt a baby because I want to prove that film wrong
because the sex is better during adoption

Let’s have children
name them Joey, Ramone and Heartbeat
or Cornflakes

Let’s have babies because our pockets
have yet to fill themselves to overflowing
with our own
disappointment

If ten years from now we're actually married
- a poem written after a first date

At the end of our first date you shook my hand.
After saying, "I think this is a logical point to end the date."
I was disappointed you didn't have some pre-planned vague
excuse to leave the date at a certain point. I did. It's what people do.

I was pretty certain you liked me. I met you online
because real people in real places frighten me
I walked you back to your car
on the way you asked me if I'd like to see a Clint Eastwood film

I am suspicious of the films of Clint Eastwood but I agreed to go.
Since we met at a coffee shop in Uptown land of inconvenient parking
the walk back lasted a few blocks.
You were parked in front of the Elementary school.

You shook my hand again when we got to your car.
The Final school bell had just rung.
You looked at me I pulled your hand
with mine bringing our faces together and we kissed briefly

I didn't linger so as not to frighten you
I pulled away our hands still together
Apparently you thought I was unimpressed
with your kissing technique Due to the brief nature of our kiss

i know this because when we were done you said
"I guess I'm not a very goo-"
I tugged at our hands pulled our faces back together
and slipped you a little bit of tongue.

You returned the favor.
The Elementary school crossing guard stood stood across the street
waiting for the light to change
I think this is the logical point to end the poem.

Crime Scene

Let’s cut through the caution tape and investigate.
My dating history is not unlike a crime scene.

I present the suspects:

1.Just because he’s on anti-psychotics doesn’t mean he’s not fucking crazy.
2.The bar manager with one nut and no ability to be emotionally available.
3.Any man that I have ever crossed paths named with Dan.
4.The boy who left me for Jesus. Twice.
5.Redacted at his request.
6.A drunk.
7.A straight guy.
8.Another drunk.
9.A recovering drunk.

Through the glass of retrospect I stare at this police line up of men, multiple of whom are actually convicted felons, and think where did I go wrong?

Should I have stayed with my high school sweetheart? Is it that 1950’s sitcom simple? The last time I was in Milwaukee he bought me a bagel and cranberry juice as we reminisced about a relationship that vanished a decade ago. At the scene of the crime he left the soundtrack to Hair and a steamed up 89 Bonneville parked by the river. My fingerprints are all over this one in fact they are everywhere mad and primary like a kindergarten finger painting.

1.You are so worthwhile I wish I could prove it.
2.Maybe I should not fuck the management and about that time I waited outside your building at four am for you to come home; sorry.
3.Seriously guys named Dan, wtf?
4.Your parents did a number on you. I’m glad you’re doing better these days bummed it wasn’t with me.
5.Redacted because he wants to have sex with me again.
6.When you get sober don’t call me.
7.Get your tongue out of my mouth you are heterosexual.
8.Full disclosure: The second drunk was only first list because I liked the cadence.
9.I can hardly say your name.

At the scene of my crime you will find; a leather bound journal, a purple cowboy hat, a blue comforter and a bottle of scotch, several bottles of scotch. Butterflies and intestines are pinned to the walls with kitchen knives. The air is a funny kind of bitter-sweet like flowers purchased for yourself. If this scent could be captured on film it would look exactly like my mug shot.

Date #2

Was impromptu
set up in a matter of Minutes
I had tea
you had the scotch my lips have been craving
in my chosen year of dryness

The scotch was aged 18 years
meaning it was first made when you were 4
You apologized for bad jokes like
platter-pus
We talked about marijuana and door knocking

my mother and catholicism
I began to think you might be a bit racist
but your tongue always steered away before anything horrible
crashed against my ear
maybe I shouldn't date white guys

At the end of the date
I said, "You're afraid of me."
You said Afraid is a strong word
you were just very shy
but if people didn't like it that was too bad

You are blunt without being hurtful
I touched the soft flesh of your belly
not daring to reach underneath of your Dwight Yoakam t-shirt
I told you that you could kiss me now, tried not to think of the t-shirt
Our mouths welded with saliva

I could barely taste the scotch.