Risk of the zip-zap
A just-about love poem
Two rather good friends of mine bought me a thickly paper-scented coffee-table book — ‘Photographers on their Art’ is the name.
Now there’s a story in this unfortunately-titled book of a hungry-looking lady with real beady eyes who,
It would appear, has undergone several zips and zaps to her memory
(EVT or electroconvulsive therapy they’re calling it)
to help erase certain learned patterns and associations she has w/r/t food.
Well I thought a bit about it, and I’d very much like the same thing to be done to my incompetent old nut —
Since, you see, I have certain terrible thoughts and feelings around food too,
like: “Holy smacker the biscuit has 400 calories in it,” and
“I’ll have the mezze platter for 4,” etc. etc.
But I mulled over it a little more,
Imagining myself with a’couple wet sponges licking each temple and some wooden chopsticks balancing between my teeth
Before they do (what I most incorrectly imagine to be) EVT,
And convinced myself that if they could laser quest away some of my most deeply entrenched memories concerning carbs and calories,
They might just rub you away too, like an Eternal sort of Sunshine gone wrong.
Which is not to say that you matter less than a piece of pie,
Only that I’d forego the risk of the zip-zap
And take the ceaseless, pain-filled prattling
Of my incompetent old nut,
To ensure not even the tiniest trace of you ever went erased.
For I love you —
But perhaps I should have just said that first?