By Maureen N. Mclane
It’s not that I’m opposed
to poison in my lips
or pig in my soap—
it’s not that I’m opposed.
It’s not that I’m opposed
to plastic bottles that won’t decompose
to malodorous phosphorus flows—
it’s not that I’m opposed
to what you propose—
surgery on your imperfect nose
favelas blasted
with hoses— it’s not that
I’m opposed to opposing
the opposite of anonymous
neighbors, the nosy stargazers
who discover new celebrity planets
about to crash into your car. It’s not that
I’m opposed that we drive
when it’s not very far
to walk or bike not opposed
you’re opposed to the subway
the stink of the general—
train 4, 5, or 6–not opposed
to the sex on Craigslist
to your pets’ special tricks
to the organized slaughter of cows
by the tenderest machines—
not opposed to your dreams
to their screams to our hopes
not opposed to the hordes
with their ropes knives and bombs
set in desolate streets slums
and thrumming towns not opposed
to your proms and baptisms
to ongoing Christian schisms
most unopposed to fierce Muslims
Jews Baha’is and Hindus posed
in poses temples now oppose
the Kama Sutra too ooh-la-la
for the petit-bourgeois members of the BJP
—not opposed to a big GDP
to a loud ATV not opposed to anything
I can see hear or touch
to “enough or too much”—
It’s not that I’m opposed
to whatever I should propose
opposing, knowing
knowing is thinning
in the species’ extra inning
on a world slow spinning on an
axis slightly tilting
into folly so is it folly
to suppose you could oppose
proposing something to oppose