Poem as Instruction for How to Respond to an Insult

First, know it.
Really inspect every word
like a woodsman would hold a finch upside down, and blow
on the soft feathers to reveal its sex
(even then, it’s fifty fifty).

Don’t be too quick to bat it back.
The spin may be devious, you might
blacken a friend’s eye, wind a mentor
or shatter crockery heirlooms.

Acknowledge sophistication in dark machinery
like when someone said the Beatles
were dying in the wrong order.
Do not laugh.

Remember, it’s always all in the eyes
so take a long look.
What’s happening in there?
See the little girl chastised. See
the intergenerational hallway of desilvered mirrors.

Check the cavities in you where hurt goes,
exactly the right shape to house an insult
like a power tool snug and clipped in its case.
Don’t do this.
Prefer the cavity.

You should have already opened yourself up
like a serial killer’s grubby fridge,
and become familiarised with your inexorable crimes:
the jam-jarred-eye-on-its-stalk of envy,
a severed, long-penis-and-balls of lust.
Half a ballerina’s foot and three toes
in the sauerkraut.

Do not forget: everyone is guilty.

Do this, so there’ll be no surprises
and when it happens
take a deep breath
then tell them their breath stinks.

Graham Clifford is a poet whose work has been featured in the Forward Book of Poetry. He is the author of collections with Seren and Against the Grain. Graham’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Scientific American, The Manchester Review, The Madrid Review, Berlinlit, The Rialto, and Mugwort.