Two Poems by Andrew Booth

The Game Show

For her birthday, I got Emily a ticket to this game show
called PuddingPool! where contestants swim in a large
pool of chocolate pudding & search for a golden vibraphone.
I could only get one ticket. The show was incredibly popular.
It aired two nights a week on one of the major networks.
I wasn’t much of one for TV, but I can’t say it wasn’t exciting.
There was a bunch of other, awful stuff in the pool
like old typewriters & junk stereo equipment.
The Contestants fought in the pudding &
had to wear special shoes to avoid getting cut.
Sometimes a person would get disoriented
beneath the surface & almost drown.
The show was very dangerous. Emily
loved danger. Also, she was pretty, so everyone thought
she’d get picked. The whole town came out
& we projected the show on a sheet hung from the side
of my house. Even though it’s what we got together for,
it was strange seeing her
in the special shoes & thick goggles,
the ear & nose plugs before she plunged in. No one
knew what to make of it. She was wild.
Soon we were all cheering. Early in the first match
she’d found a washing machine agitator
& clubbed the biggest Contestants over the head,
& in the second, she set snares w/ electrical wire
that trapped almost everyone. “That’s your sister,”
they said. She was holding the golden vibraphone
over her head with rotten pudding
dripping all over her bleeding arms.
Everyone patted my back
and clinked their beers.
“That’s my sister,” I said.


I Have Lived the Lives of Ghosts

from around nine this morning
until now. People
& streets moved around me
like an object in fog. Babies were
obnoxious & cats were unfriendly.
Concrete crud
found new meaning. If
you were to look now at that guy I was then
you would say, “there is a medium-sized
poltergeist in the kitchen
filching my mashed potatoes.” They
are very good potatoes
w/ equal amounts of butter
& frustration
which makes them delicious.
In your kitchen, the old pleasures
please like they always did.


Andrew Booth Andrew Booth

Andrew Booth lives & writes in the woods of southern New Hampshire. He likes fish & berries, but isn't really a bear. He currently has work forthcoming--find it.

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