WITH APOLOGIES TO PAUL MULDOON
In my opinion, New Yorker poetry is shit,
to say nothing of the shittier fiction.
So of course my friend’s piece
on transubstantiation
was accepted.
I had to congratulate her.
“Dear,” I said, “I think you can be
another serialized
hack now,
stripped
of vitality and identity
the rest of your pitiable life.”
To which she replied,
“Fuck you, Kirstin.
Fuck you.”
– Kirstin O’Connor
