The Styrofoam Firestorm
(what the Department Chair intim[id]ated over a cup of coffee):

1/
Spin control has limitations; a duck in a swan-suit will not fly.
But one day, you had to ask: To what do I owe this styrofoam cup?
You craved—yet feared—its all-too-white history . . .
The answer? A petroleum firestorm in Iraq. 

And someday, you’ll ask again: What about this styrofoam cup?
See, I told you not to assert your eco-consciousness.
The answer’s always petroleum in [fill in the bank].
Ha! Sorry, I know it’s serious late American empire capitalism.

Well I told you not to assert your eco-conscience
or mix literary metaphors into conversations.
I’m sorry, but it’s seriously late American empire capitalism.
You have to love physical objects in shrink-wrap, don’t you?

Before you mixed metaphors in conversation
you played ball, scratched So-and-so’s back, even undercover.
But you love physical objects in shrink-wrap anyway, don’t you?
I admit I’m addicted to some things I wouldn’t want known . . .

2/
But you’ve played ball, scratched backs under covers
because you like what you like and, well . . . What is beautiful, anyway?
I’m addicted to some kinks I wouldn’t want known. . . .
Some days you feel like the bird; some days you feel like the windshield

and you like what you like and. . . . Well, what is beautiful, anyway?
Beauty is transient while Ugly sticks forever.
Some days you feel like the bird, some days the windshield.
Someday, you should learn the virtues of velcro yourself

because Beauty can detach while Ugly sticks forever.
I mean, you are too old to make moves like this.
Learn the virtues of velcro yourself:
drop your principles—they’re light as dumbbells anyway,

and you’re too old for a move like that . . .
You were overdue for this promotion—you earned it!
Just drop your dumbbell principles—they’re so light anyway.
Oh, I’m sorry, did I—I didn’t somehow offend you?

3/
Oh? Well, you were overdue for a demotion; you earned that.
Don’t thank me—I really love you. . . . (And that’s why love hurts).
Oh, I’m sorry, did I offend you somehow?
Okay, I don’t love you. Go thank your-fucking-self!

Go thank yourself! If I ever loved you, that’s why love hurts.
You think the B, F, and D trains you take stand for Big Fucking Deal?
I don’t love you—go thank your-fucking-self!
Whaddayou mean, “the evils we do live long after we are gone”?

You think your B, F, and D trains stand for Big Fucking Deal?
Next you’ll say the earth is warming—you’ll start quoting Beatniks!
Whaddayou mean? What “evils” that we did ever lasted long?
Come on, what’s a little suppression among friends?

Next you’ll say the sea is rising. What—you’re quoting Science?
What made you suddenly read? No good deeds will go unpunished....
Come on, what’s a little erasure among friends?
You’re Asian—you can’t go out in the streets. . . . Oh, uhm. Can you?

4/
What made you a reader? No good deeds go unpunished . . .
Save yourself—don’t smear your identity with this.
Okay, Asian-American—you still can’t go out in the streets.
At least I’m doing something useful—I’m not reading poetry.

Save yourself—don’t associate with that!
It too shall pass (just like shit), but which of the two will you be?
At least I’m doing something useful—I’m not seeking utopia.
The Revolution was just a dinner party on paper plates.

It too shall pass (just like shit), and which will you be
at the apocalypse—the manager or laborer angels?
The Revolution was just dinner on styrofoam.
The last democracy on earth was the first, and we both know

Apocalypse will have manager and laborer angels. . . .
Spin control has limitations; a duck in a swan-suit will not fly.
The last democracy on earth was Athens, and we both know
you crave—yet fear—its all-too-white history. . . .  

Jeffrey Ethan Lee has been poetry editor since 2005 for Many Mountains Moving Press.  His book identity papers was a 2006 Colorado Book Award finalist. His first book, invisible sister (2004), is available from MMM Press. Lee has won the 2002 Sow’s Ear Poetry Chapbook prize for The Sylf (2003), created identity papers for Drimala Records, published the chapbook Strangers in a Homeland (Ashland Poetry Press, 2001), and published hundreds of poems, stories, and essays in Many Mountains Moving, Xconnect, Crab Orchard Review, Crazyhorse, Crosscurrents, Drexel Online Journal, Green Mountain Review, and Washington Square. He teaches creative writing at West Chester University and has a PhD in British Romanticism and an MFA from NYU.