Sam Rockwell Monologue Hat
new poem by Travis Shosa
Sam Rockwell Monologue Hat
Hello,
Apologies for my late response
A bad thing happened
And I began to transmute all of the bad things
Of all-time
Into a series of word nightmares
A spiritual mud detox
So that I could better serve you, my client
Instead of spontaneously weeping over a Zoom call
»
Em pulled one good dream from my gut
And I am slowly starting to feel better!
But still not great
I am paralyzed by worry
But like a Pokémon is paralyzed
Where my moves still work sometimes
Where I might be fine if someone would just feed me a fucking Cheri Berry
But all I have are actual cherries
And they are sour
Because my fridge is broken
«
My friend is a cross-country trucker
But he made it back home for his birthday
I went to see The Empire Strips Back with him and his wife
Who is semi-estranged
They sat together while I sat two rows back, next to this Asian woman
Because the Emperor seating had all sold out
Because I waited too long
Because I always wait too long
»
The Asian woman cheered with the spirit and aggression
Of a Storm Trooper squadron on angel dust
Whooping wildly at every swiveled hip
Every layer peeled back
Every nipple pastie
As she ruptured my eardrums
I thought I was Sam Rockwell
I thought, “I want to be this Asian woman”
Because it’s probably fun to care that much
«
One of the performances
Involved someone in an Emperor Palpatine nude suit
Complete with a dragged-to-hell scrote and ass polyps
Jerking their fake dick to Miley Cyrus’s “Wrecking Ball”
I told Em about this later
And they said,
“That is a sentence never before said in the history of the English language”
And it has now been said at least twice
»
The next day
My friends came over
We played Super Smash Bros. and Mario Kart
And I lost every round
Because I kept thinking about a Belgian girl
Who I’m afraid is going to die
Who keeps slipping on Diddy Kong’s banana peels
Who keeps getting the coins knocked out of her
And then I thought about Em
And I didn’t really know why
«
We watched the “Best Friend; Space” episode of Review
During the first part, I considered jealousy
And the subtle competition of interpersonal relationships
I was the best man at my friend’s wedding
Does this mean I won a friend-off?
Why does there need to be delineation
Between a best man and the “lesser” groomsmen?
Why do we “compete” for the affection of others?
Does this not place us in a position of imbalance?
When one person has to “win” another
What have we actually won?
»
When Forrest’s ex father-in-law
Launches towards the ceiling of a rocket
In the second part
I contemplate falling just short of my dreams
I think about dying, just pages before finishing a book
That would etch my name in history
And then I laughed
As Lance Bass recited commercial reads
As Fred Willard’s lifeless body floated around the tin can
If there is life after death
I’d like to think I could laugh at my failures
«
I matched with a girl on Bumble
And we texted for nearly 12 hours on a Sunday
I told her I was writing poetry, and
She asked to see one of my poems
I should have sent “Blue Moons,” I think
But instead I sent “Hangman”
I don’t know if part of me wanted to scare her away
Or if, despite my insistence that I wrote “Blue Moons” because of Em
I actually wrote it for them and I don’t truly want to share it
Or maybe I’ve gotten so used to showing my fangs
That I’m scared to show my belly
»
The Bumble girl said she liked “Hangman”
But it was a quick response and she didn’t say any specifics
I’m not sure she actually read it
I recommended Rosie Tucker’s UTOPIA NOW! and Hop Along’s Painted Shut
And she said she liked them
But I’m not sure she actually listened
I was both frustrated and flattered
She called me “handsome” in her first message
I felt like a woman being courted by someone who only pretends to care
Because they like the way I look
And I was embarrassed to feel comforted by this
I was ashamed of my body
And ashamed of my desire to be lusted after
«
We have a date coming up
I hope she doesn’t mind my anxiety
Or my crooked teeth
I hope that if we kiss
She can’t taste the bluff on my lips
»
My Sam Rockwell monologue hat arrived in the mail
I asked the Belgian girl if I should buy it
And she said
“LMAO. That’s fire. Buy it.”
We’re not talking right now
I don’t know if we ever will again
But I hope she joins a new dance team
Or writes a book
Or at least realizes that she deserves happiness
Even if I don’t get to see it
«
As I stare at the Sam Rockwell monologue hat
I am paralyzed by worry
Worry that this reads like Sun Kil Moon lyrics
Worry that this reads like the Sam Rockwell monologue
I don’t think I can ever wear this hat in public
It’s probably fun to not care so much
»
Anyways,
That’s how I’ve been doing
I am still excited to share [INSERT ALBUM HERE] with as many people as possible
If you would like to set a meeting to discuss
That thing we already discussed
My schedule is busy but loose
Much like my head
«
Let me know
Travis Shosa (they/them) is a writer from Spring, TX. Their poetry is featured or forthcoming in Maudlin House, BRUISER, Eulogy Press, The Bloomin’ Onion, fifth wheel press, Eunoia Review, Michigan City Review of Books, Some Words and more. They run Dodo Eraser, a lit mag and reading series, and they are a Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee. Their music journalism has been featured in Pitchfork, Bandcamp Daily, The Line of Best Fit, PAPER, and more
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