THREE POEMS

Henry Goldkamp

A GOOD DEAL ON RENTER’S INSURANCE (THE FRIENDSHIP OF LANDLORDS)

when i get my opportunistic hands on a must-see

vacant property

i read its blueprints out loud i make it my own

my stage or yours said the local thespian w a lisp

i’m buying up the neighborhood one tooth at a time

everyone’s got a mouth on them these days

but i like to think mine is special

the way it talks and pitches w earnest curve

calls for specialty tools toss me that monkey wrench ow

fish that sprocket out yr pocket

gummy a magic trick out a button bag

the phones are looking so good tonight good golly good molly

catch me signing NDAs all damn move-in day

the baggage i carry ecstatically digging into my shoulders

so good security oughtta pull me aside and give me a good talking to

and where do you think you’re off to you fucking dog

oh noplacespecial just planning my look tour

the city of otherly blood the city that never weeps

across the land of empty the land of the prizing fun

oy joy do me a flavor don’t fuck up my buzz

you know what they say about tenants n tenacity

if they’re broke nothing here needs fixing

smoke detectors are overrated

the mold you leapt from? all natural

dust bunnies organic as erehwon

and roaches a wonder of nature

whoever in their right mind could blow this joint

make a house a whoa

sign here and here and here

x there and there and there

right so x and x and x

now that we got that under contract

you should know the window unit has weird settings no shade

crank up infatuation in the winter

set to kismet in the summer

i get them mixed up like apricot skis

sure the subtext is french but what’s mi amor bon ami?

cc’s everywhere the email the motorcycle engine and the tv

i forget if this poem is a commercial space or a bad ad for domesticity

gotta check in w the pseudoscientists in charge of scattergories

carbon copies anyone for those with eyes to exam

i’ll bring the bunsen you bring whatever unstable element you have on hand

mania has such a nice ring to it its rich golden color

the english mania coming from of course the latin mania coming from off course of
course from the greek mania

its three crossed olive eyes its salt in a chakra

close-captioned fine print blurs in proximity to a martini

slip them from their swizzle thru yr teeth like a vise

subletting isn’t illegal in our sunshine state you’ve got plenty of bedroom

i understand the need for a building of stories

seeing how many you can fit in yr mouth at once

there are steps one must walk up and talk over

i’ll admit i was thinking of a plan B in hell A

before succumbing to the wah-wahs of la-la land

that hot nightspot where you can bum a cig from the sky just by breathing

but if you need me feel free to knock through the wall

i’ll be deep in the light of paperwork all night

thumbing the edges foaming at the mouth

don’t mind my first-world investment property personal problems

there’s just this one particular 90-degree angle i’m trying to sojourn

whenever it’s around i don’t know how to protract!

your name goes on the touristy map-of-the-stars’ dotted line

scrawled like bang trimmings in a leaky sink

nothing wrong w renewing what we already knew

oh please it’s nothing it’s the lease i can do

don’t sweat the chorus infestation the chores in yr hair

but, respectfully, that deposit you made a year or so back?

well you know how landlords do dirty

(i’ll be keeping that)

ALBERT PUJOLS IS MY ILLEGITIMATE MOTHER

go on and keep dunking

i like my metaphors a little mixed

a wittle stir crazy

just a little dirt

pick it up

rub it in yr hands

the diamond-shaped tradition

of superstition studies suggest

that on-base percentage increases significantly

obviously this is hitting okay

launching absolute piss missiles

i'm in the zone out the park

the room wasn't big enough (as the fates foretold)

the open meadow was claustrophobic

that's the flight of utility playa

the old owl and the lark of the song-screeched screen

i know yr just one computer of many but

i'm bringing all my dongles to the discount projector

we're gonna figure out what works in what port where

i'm just clicking around in here

don't go clocking out on me

put yr time in

i'm crushing bombs to dead center

that one's not coming back

all the power comes from the back foot

a favorite dream writing utensil

the infinite red seam of the ball

slithering the leather without ever touching

no trash cans no ticky tack

nuance in yr pants unzipping your silken file

do me a solid pronounce that different

make it work

like ants on the line

their itty bitty delicate shift of weight

the corpus making its way to the above ground grave site

i hope they sell cotton candy at my funeral

a scoop of bratwurst summer by the pound

read my last refill and testament

i mean i'll be hoping for some elegies obviously

they can be short like "air ball" or

squirt some mustard on the grass for me

splat some sauerkraut off the overpass

but that ball is a long ways out

my body is literally made of 500 home runs

such an elite club

damn near impossible to get in

i knew that one was gone as soon as it hit the bat
i only charge the mound

when the pitcher's got that dog in em

teeth to bare belly to itch

let's go slugger gloves off

o aftermathematics of bat flips

a showboat showdown

send a rumor around the horn

the fat cats in power gonna get plunked

each day a double-header

going going gone going up against

sinking sinking sunk

THIS WILL ALL BE OVER IN A *SNAP*

i wouldn't know colonialism if it hit me

in the face w a bayonet

said the handsome officer

swinging a baton into the laugh riot

delivers a zip-tie zinger

pulls my hair from my scalp

rubs my face in the dirt

this is a team effort

being this beautiful and rich so very suddenly

power baller lotto of the grotto as it were

when god made me

in its little celestial workshop or whatever it is

the northpole residency

god x santa claus collab

they must've been in a pretty bad mood

equipped each fingertip with a baby-size joy buzzer

shoved wind-up chattering teeth in my mouth

a sparkler cigarette in my lips

my small intestine a whoopie cushion

the classic knife in the head

then sent me off with my camouflage passport

the spirit's silly little uniform

some bit of flesh

me? i hail from new granada

these tears are as real as they get

a cerulean plastic and stretchy

noodled with helium and ribbonless

released to the sky (plop plop)

the sky who's still releasing new material

after all these years

despite being just another practical joke device a classic

a color-changing toy a big-honking mood ring

intended to confuse and frighten

clowned into this allergic world

to gather inflatable sheep

give 'em the hook

with the same staff

that will inevitably yank me off stage in my final bit

of breath is still

after all those shows

knocking em dead

i try to cheer myself up

pat my head and rub my belly

ah it's tough

but think of all the rocks i get to kick along the way

anyway

enough about me

& my animalistic balloon that will undoubtedly pop

upon its windy waxed path up to the sun

might i interest you

in a stick of gum?

Henry Goldkamp teaches writing and performance studies at Louisiana State University, hosts the reading series Splice, serves as associate editor of Tilted House, and acts as communications director for the New Orleans Poetry Festival. Books include Not My Circus (Ursus Americanus, 2025), JOY BUZZER: A Clown Show (Ricochet Editions, 2025), and Balloon Animal (Cloak, forthcoming 2026). More at henrygoldkamp.com.