Dennis Caswell

I wish I were able to stay awake.
I wish my remote had a button marked CAKE.

I wish I could do things first, and then learn how.
I wish I could slice the seas with my prow.

If my wings won’t work, I wish they would just fall off.
I wish the old farmer would add more drugs to my trough.

I wish people’s flesh would change color when kissed,
so I could keep track of the spots I’ve missed.

I wish my parents didn’t need to have sex.
I wish everything in the past was just specks.

I wish things didn’t break down into atoms, so water
would only be water, and my daughter just my daughter.

I wish there could be a thousand genders
and thousand-piece-jigsaw-puzzle pudenda.

I wish I had fewer opinions
and more minions.

I wish I could master just one technique.
I wish I remembered what I wished for last week.

I wish the distance curved up and wrapped clear around,
so we could look up into somebody else’s down.

I wish I knew how to get rid of this spot.
I wish I could be made of snowfall, then not.

I wish there were flames at the end of each day.
I wish I could make a wish and blow them away.