Why We Want to Buy Your House

We want to buy your house

Because there are

No other houses

I don’t know if you’ve looked around

For a house

I’m assuming you have

Since you’re selling this one

And you’ll need to live somewhere

But around here?

No houses

So we’re trying to buy your house

Because your house

Is one of five available

And the other four

Are either made out of cardboard

Or they’re actually a dollhouse

In the toy section of Target

To be clear

We do not actually like your house

Your house is the furthest thing

From our dream house

My girlfriend and I could imagine

But we need a house

And you have a house

And you’re selling it

And our real estate agent told us

That despite your house being

Pardon the expression--

A broken down Port-a-Potty

On top of a toxic waste dump

--Your house is in demand

I once went to a gay bar

With a straight man

And not one of the rare

Desirable straight men

But just a straight man

Who went with me

Because I needed someone

To go with

And he wanted to get in my pants

Even though we were just friends

So I took this straight man

To a gay bar

He wore a Phish t-shirt

With holes in it

Bermuda shorts

And flip flops

And that night

There were seven bachelorette parties

At the gay bar

And that slob was sought after

By every drunk girl in that bar

That’s your house

Your house is the straight man

In the gay bar

None of those women

Actually wanted my friend

He was just there

And your house is just there

And my agent tells me

That I need to write you a letter

Explaining to you

Why I want your house

And I need to state my case

Because every other person

Is willing to pay for your shithole in cash

And I can’t do that

So this is my letter

Assuring you I will take

Very good care of your home

When really I’m just going to raze it

The minute all the ink is dry

So I can build a better house

On the land that’s there

I’m hoping honesty

Will score me some points here

Because I don’t have it in me to lie to you

Whoever you are

The homeowner

Homeowner

A word I hate more and more

With each passing day of house-hunting

You are the person in power

I am powerless

Compared to you

And to everyone

Because I have no house to sell

I am a renter

I have a been a renter

But my girlfriend is a serious person

And she wants a serious life

And that means a house

And that means endless debt

And not only that--because I can deal with that

But with CHASING endless debt

COURTING endless debt

TRYING TO ROMANCE endless debt

I can get behind that

Because I have to

But what I can’t do

Is kiss your ass

In this letter

I cannot do it

So please reward me

With the gift

Of your disgusting house

So that I can demolish it

And put it out of its misery

Which, I promise you,

Is the nicest possible thing

I could do for that godawful building

You call a home

I look forward to hearing from you

And good luck to you

As you look for a new home

And may you never

Have to write a letter

Like this one

And One Is Enough

It’s possible that

Of the thirty-two women

Some are lying

It’s possible

That the majority of them
Are lying

I mean, anything’s possible

Sure

It’s possible

That of the thirty-two

Thirty are lying

Maybe even thirty-one

But not all of them

I think we can agree on that, can’t we?

That if thirty-two people
Say you did something

It’s possible a few of them

Are just making shit up

But we all sort of acknowledge

That you probably did do

The thing they’re saying you did

Even if only one of them

Knows the truth of it

So, when I hear an accusation

Like the one I’m hearing

About your husband

The first thing that jumps to mind

--And this might surprise you, but--

The first thing

That jumps to my mind

Is not--

They’re all telling the truth

Even though

It’s more likely

They’re all telling the truth

Than that they’re all lying

It’s far more likely

That if thirty-two people see a murder

Or a bank robbery

Or even somebody shoplifting

That all thirty-two are simply

Telling the truth about it

But for some reason

When it comes to rape

And when it comes to sexual assault

We look at big numbers

And we think--

Hmm, maybe not all of them

Are being honest

About what they’re saying happened

And we have this strange

Rule about it

That says--

If even one of them is lying

We have a falsehood

Now

If thirty-two people

Saw a bank robbery

We would presume

That even if some of them

Came up with that

Out of nowhere

That bank was probably

Robbed, am I right?

Of course I’m right

Even if one out of the thirty-two

Saw the robbery

We still agree

That that’s enough

To constitute an accurate report

Of a robbery

So how I look at all this is--

Thirty-two women
Said your husband

Assaulted them

And I only need to believe one

To know that he’s

A fucking rapist

I only need one

If all he did was rape one woman

Than he’s a rapist

And yes, I guess him being a serial rapist

Would be worse

But being a one-time rapist

Isn’t better, is it?

You can try muddying up the water

All you want

About how many there were

And how many are telling the truth

And if there are any liars

But you can catch all the liars you want

And you’re still going to be stuck

Married to a rapist

And I think that should be your concern

Because even if you get the number down

From thirty-two to one

You still have one

And one is still enough

It’s still enough

And the fact

That everybody seems to think

That one is something we can overlook

If we really, really want to, well--

That’s something I won’t speak on

Because it’s not worth it

It’s not even worth

Talking about

A Boy Sitting in the Water

There’s a boy

Sitting in the water

He’s looking down

At his palm

Like there’s something

That might have

Crawled onto it

Or maybe he cut it

In the water

The water’s too calm

To be ocean water

So it must be a lake

But a big one

It goes out

And beyond the photo

And the boy doesn’t seem

To appreciate the vastness

Of the body

That he’s in

He looks to be about
Seven or eight

But he could be nine

I have a hard time

Telling age

When anybody’s

Too far removed

From the age

That I am now

His hair has that haircut

That all parents get

For young boys

When they don’t want to spend

Too much money

And they don’t particularly care

How stylish their son looks

It’s short and out of the way

And when it gets wet

It sticks right up

And he looks like every other

Young boy

Who’s grown up

Anywhere in America

Something dots

The edges of the water

In the photo

But I can’t make out

What it is

The young boy

Is looking down at his hand

But he doesn’t seem upset

And he doesn’t seem aware

That he’s having his photo taken

But that’s the thing about kids

They’re not self-conscious

We teach them that

My own son loved having

His photo taken

Until he started smoking

And thought I didn’t know about it

And then once he had a secret

That was it for vulnerability

And freedom

He thought I was the one

Who was restricting him

But it was just growing up

And having things to hide

From people you were once

So close to

Worrying that the camera

Would catch it

That thing you don’t want

Anybody to know

I snapped a photo of my son

On the beach once

And when I developed the photos
I could see the top of a tattoo

That he had gotten on his leg

Which was normally hidden by pants

But only partially by a bathing suit

And I thought about
Whether or not

I should confront him over it

I decided not to

Um

This photo, though

I don’t see any evidence

Of anything being hidden

Which should make the photo

Less interesting

But, in fact, does quite the opposite

You keep coming back to it

Because, I think, you can’t really believe

That nothing’s going on here

And yet it’s such a stunning photograph

Because this young boy

Is--It feels as though

He’s in danger

Because, of course, he is

When you’re that young

You’re always in danger

You’re at the mercy of whatever

Goes by you in the water

The water looks so calm

But you can’t see into it

It’s dark

And the boy isn’t paying attention

He’s only paying attention

To whatever stupid thing

Is on his hand

And you just want to scream at him

You just want to scream

That he should pay better attention

To his surroundings, but…

It’s just a photo

And, you know,

Who knows

How long ago

It was taken

A Woman Walks Into A Bar

A woman walks into a bar

And she orders a drink

A woman notices

That everyone in the bar

Is a rabbit

When the woman wonders

Why there would be

So many rabbits

In a bar

In the middle of the day

On a Tuesday

The rabbits hop up to her

And ask her

If she’ll buy them

A drink

The woman in the bar

Isn’t sure

She can buy rabbits a drink

Because she doesn’t know

What the legal drinking age is

Of rabbits

Or bunnies

Or what the difference is

Between a rabbit and a bunny

How can she tell

If the animals in front of her

Are rabbits or bunnies

And is the legal drinking age

Of a rabbit lower

Than it is for a bunny?

While she was pondering this

An alligator walked into the bar

And asked the woman

What she was doing there?

The woman wasn’t sure

If people were not allowed

In this bar

But then the alligator laughed

And assured the woman

That he was just joking with her

And the woman in the bar

Realized that this alligator

Could be a crocodile

And she wouldn’t know

The difference between

The two

Now here she was

In a bar with bunnies or rabbits

And an alligator

Or a crocodile

And the woman was unsure

Of herself

And her standing in the bar

Because she found herself sitting

On one of the barstools

The bartender came up

To the woman in the bar

And asked her

If she wanted something to drink

By then, the rabbits

Or the bunnies

Had scattered

Because they were terrified

Of the alligator or the crocodile

So now the woman was alone in the bar

With the alligator or the crocodile

Who was playing darts

Over in the corner

And didn’t appear to want a drink

The woman in the bar

Ordered a drink

From the bartender

Just as a moth walked in

And introduced himself to her

She couldn’t tell if the moth

Was a moth

Or a butterfly

So the woman introduced herself

But tried not to say too much

In the event that she said something

About the moth being a moth

When really it was a butterfly

And the moth went on and on

About how he used to date

The bartender

But they both wanted different things

And sometimes things just shake out that way

And you can still love someone

Even if you understand

That you have to live apart from them

The woman in the bar agreed

And when her drink came

The moth or butterfly

Offered to pay for it

And the woman in the bar was grateful
Because she had forgotten her wallet or billfold at home

And then the bartender told her

That he was closing for the night

And then the night after that

Because running a bar these days

Was not easy

And he had decided to give it all up

And run away with the moth or butterfly

Because he had come to believe

That they really could make it work

Provided he wasn’t so worried

About the business all the time

When the woman who walked into the bar

Walked out of the bar

She found herself on a street or avenue

And wasn’t sure

Which way to go

Most of her plans involved

Walking into a bar

Being in a bar

Having something happen

And then leaving again

She had never given

Much thought

To what would happen

After that

The woman found herself

Standing outside a bar

That wouldn’t be a bar

For much longer

She knew she had to go

And she tried to decide

Which way

Was best