h o m e........
p a s t   i s s u e s....
s u b m i s s i o n s....
l i n k s

 

 

...............
REBECCA HOOGS


.............
SUCK

Sucker, suck-up, suck-face,
Sucker-punch, this sucks we say,

meaning it’s bad, you’re bad,
bad, bad, bad
, not meaning
the cups
and hooks of the paper nautilus;
or the pull
of water in the wake
of a ship; or a sup,
excellent tipple, indeed; or the breast-pocket
where criminals tuck
their guilty hearts;
or a lollipop, suckabob,
all-day sweet; or a ploughshare
applying itself to the ground;
or the perfect disks
of snail-fishes; or the succumb
of air after the fire-damp blast
in the mine; or a partial vacuum;
or any extraction of any kind
such as honey
from flowers or blood from body
or you
from me;
or the small stalk
of the Roman lettuce;
or a runner taking off
from the strawberry; or the very young
rabbit; or making out like mad in an alley;
or the rising-valve of a pump;
or a punch
without warning, a pain
I wasn’t expecting;
or any derivation,
such as comfort or meaning;
or to draw in, draw into, unto, until;
or to inhale, to exhaust;
or me, a creature
of in and out,
of dependence, of attachment;
so what
other option but
to be a sucker? So, it sucks
to be me. I suck.