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