The Badger is the thirteenth astrological sign.
My sign. The one the other signs evicted: unanimously.
So what?! Think I want to read about my future
in the newspaper next to the comics?
My third grade teacher told me I had no future.
I run through snow and turn around
just to make sure I've got a past.
My life's a chandelier dropped from an airplane.
I graduated first in my class from alibi school.
There ought to be a healthy family cage at the zoo,
or an open field, where I can lose my mother
as many times as I need.
When I get bored, I call the cops, tell them
there's a pervert peeking in my windows!
then I slip on a flimsy nightgown, go outside,
press my face against the glass and wait . . .
This makes me proud to be an American
where drunk drivers ought to wear necklaces
made from the spines of children they've run over.
I remember my face being invented
through a windshield.
All the wounds stitched with horsehair
so the scars galloped across my forehead.