Damn Women Asking Me Questions
Dan Provost
“Am I real?”
Oedipus Mass asked me while tripping on acid for the 9th time in her life.
“The eternal question.”
I answered, and then headed toward the church exit.
Went home, to masturbate and ponder when the phone rang.
“Am I alive?” Esther Greenwood asked, panting and choking from gas fumes that radiated from her oven.
“Not much longer.” I told her while I cleaned up my mess, and then turned on a Plasmatic album.
Then someone entered my room—a black women who was dressed up in a maid’s outfit.
“Am I free yet?” Old Dilsey asked me as I turned down Wendy O. Williams screams.
“I don’t know.” I said—“You might have to ask Rita Dove that question.”
As Dilsey left, I locked my door and turned off the turntable, wondering what other women were going to ask me questions I had no answer for.
I clicked on the TV, when a naked Vietnamese girl appeared running down a street that was cluttered with dead bodies and bullets being fired.
To my surprise, she stopped, quizzically stared at me and asked,
“Will humanity ever come back?”
I didn’t answer at first...instead I went to my closet, took out my .45 Colt, put it to my head and responded...
“No, never will humanity come back...I don’t know if it even existed.”
Clang...clang...clang...