SPIT

Spit:

It’s what I wanted to be

Able to do

Well.

Spit!



Spit

A giant

Shining

Crystal

Bullet

Of spit,

Shoot it

Out of my mouth

Like a cowboy

Sending a perfect

Oscillating oval

Of diamond-studded

Spit

Flying

In a perfect parabola

Out across his horse’s shoulder,

Arcing above

The finely tooled tip of his square-toed boot

Shimmering

Over tales of wild horse and rodeo glory

Gliding

into the tall grass and wildflowers

of a big,

buzzing,

empty,

western Pennsylvania,

summer

afternoon

Landing

in the meadow

of my heart

with a scintillating

THWACK!!!



Spit so thick, so perfectly aimed,

So multi-faceted and prismatic,

So true in its trajectory

It hit the target, everytime.

The distilled essence of independence and toughness

Inside the cowboy

Gathered from his vital juices

Sculpted by his mouth and tongue

Shining

In one perfectly formed, perfectly aimed,

Perfectly casual gem of glittering viscosity

Freedom incarnate

SPIT!!!



Spit

Like that

Was what I aspired to be

Able to produce.

At will

Any time

Anywhere

No matter who was present



I spat like a blow dryer,

all wind

and

no substance,

or I spat like a hand mixer spattering flecks of whipped cream around a kitchen by accident.

I spat and the spit hit my chin or my shirt front.

I spat like a child,

a girl,

a well brought up brat

who lived in a world that taught

curtsies and dessert forks and crossed ankles and noblesse oblige

but never

ever

to

SPIT!!!!!!

Wendy Insinger, Warwick NY